


Fangan Ronpa: Despair America! (v.2)

by Waggleton



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate History, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Fangan Ronpa, Murder, Murder Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Original Female Character Death(s), Original Male Character Death(s), Reality TV, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 70
Words: 154,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waggleton/pseuds/Waggleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tune in every weekday at 6 p.m., on any or every channel, to watch 15 of America's Top Students, hand-picked from Columbia National Academy, fight against an inescapable mansion, a cruel Producer, and, worst of all - each other! Watch as friends turn to enemies, enemies turn to friends, plots are planned, lies are told, truths are revealed, and of course, America's favorite pastime - homicide! Be sure to catch all the spills, chills, thrills, and kills this season has to offer, only on Despair America!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero is introduced.

It's Friday, sometime in May, at my high school in Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico. I was on my smartphone in my remedial algebra class, nearing the end of a boring lecture about our final study guide that my teacher's obviously half-assing since there's only three days left in the goddamned school year. The bell finally rings, and we all leave as Mr. Azarola tries to yell at us to do study for that damn test. Nobody listens, or at least I don't. I slip out through one of the school's exits that nobody ever uses, managing to leave without any of my friends catching up to me. 

Usually I ride one of my bikes to school, preferably the Wreathride Ranger freestyle with a full frame, 175mm crank, a 9t driver cog set and 20 wheelspokes. It costs upwards of $375, but since I'm somewhat popular in certain circles, I got it from a sponsorship deal. It even has “JACK GUERRERO” printed down the side in green against the black frame. Mom doesn't want me riding it in public, but I don't see how anyone could steal something with my fucking name on it. Today, however, my mom got to go to work late and closed up early, so she ended up just dropping me off and picking me up from school.

My mother, Ms. Maxine Guerrero, was waiting outside in the parking lot in her fixed-up 1984 Blackstone Carbine Turbo, with its 2.2 liter four-cylinder engine, a 146 hp motor, cream white coloring, and a bumper sticker promoting her mechanic shop in the back. I rushed towards the car, backpack dangling off of my shoulder, open the door, and slide in, catching a glimpse of my my bony, kinda scarred face in the rear-view mirror. I smiled somewhat to my mom, leaning over and squeezing her for a second or two. She looks too young to really be anyone's mom. Not having to give birth to me might've had something to do it. The fact that I'm almost bald and look like I'm in college while she has long strawberry blonde hair and could pass for a high schooler further shows that we're not related.

“Hey, thanks.” 

“Oh, its fine.” She smiles before changing gears, though she doesn't really need to, as were caught in a line several cars long that leads out of the schools parking lot and onto the road, slowly moving out like a snake. 

The two of us sat in the Carbine for a little bit, sometimes taking the place of another car behind us after the one at the front of the line ventures out onto the street. Mom decides to break the silence with a somewhat drawn out “So, your day?”, an attempt to make the wait go quicker. 

“Fine...everyone's been getting on my ass about finals.” 

“You're surprised?” She chuckled. “I wish my teachers were like that. They practically just threw my finals at me one day.”

“Yeah, well the kids in your classes probably were smart enough to remember how to breathe every once in a while.”

Awkward silence. Mom doesn't like me shitting on my classmates,  and I don't care. We're almost at the street now, after that it should only be about half an hour until we got home.

“Well, today absolutely nobody visited. Not even Mr. Hudson with his damn beater. Like, 40 minutes ago I got fed up and told the rest of the staff to go home. Nobody comes after 3 anyway,” She makes an unpleasent noise, like something my one female friend would make after learning there's no Wi-Fi. Another minute passed. “So we're still doing your show in Española next month, right? Man, I still gotta book hotels for that…” A little bit of a pout, an attempt at small talk, which worked, since I immediately starting discussing which board and bike and everything else I should bring to the little skate park exhibition me and one of my sponsors, Mountain Energy, are putting on to celebrate the beginning of summer. The conversation thankfully lasted until we get near our house.

Mom pulled up to the small mail box right next to the decently sized red-brick house with an attached garage, letting me roll down the window and grab whatever is inside. Bill. Fairly big but thin package. Rolled up magazine, probably one of my Mom's. Nothing fancy, but the package looks different and catches my attention. Rather than just being made out of brown cardboard, it looks like it's made out of a thin material, constructed like packaged unhealthy food you'd find at the store. The only markings on it were **ALEXANDER WELLING , SUPERINTENDENT, COLUMBIA NATIONAL ACADEMY**, along with an address for some place in Washington, D.C., with a logo of two hands holding a torch. The rest of the white box was completely blank.

Apparently, I was so busy investigating and processing the words, wondering where I've heard them before, that I didn’t notice that the car was inside the garage, right next to the custom Horizon LGR250 Two-Stroke, with greased bearings and anodized bolts, and a black fairing with a red stripe going from the front to back. Technically, I can't ride it. Using it in freestyle motocross doesnt count, or, at least, nobody's come kmocking to fone me..  
Mom taps on my side of the Carbine, impatiently. She mouthed something that looks like “You done?” and opens my door. We walked to the old oak door that connects the garage and the house's living room.

As soon as we enter, I throw my bookbag to the floor, and she turns to me. “Open that thing, you were eyeing it like crazy,” She tosses me her multitool, and I flip the knife out, sliding it under one of the openings. “Where's it from, anyway?”

“A place called Columbia National Acade-“

Suddenly, she's in my face, grabbing the package, eyes wide. “Ohmy _god_ , Jack, open it **right now!** ” I didn't know she could even sound that excited, Jesus.

“Why? What is it, some college?”

“Have you been reading ANY news? Don't you know what it _is?!_ ”

I shook my head.

“Americas School?' Do you even - look, just, open it! OPEN IT!” She was smiling way too wide and her eyes were shining, practically sparkling, her grip on the box tightening

Half-remembered news stories were slowly creeping out of the corners of my brain. I cut open the box, walked over to the coffee table in the middle of the room, and spilled the contents of the box onto it.

After that, it all became a haze. Reading acceptance letters. Me and my mom celebrating, though it was more of her celebration. We called family and friends, got more calls from people the following day, and the day after.

I got invited to my county's newspaper for an imterview, then to the local news station, the  to newspapers and stations all over New Mexico. Mountain Energy sent me celebration letters. I went to a photo shoot with the tworld other New Mexico kids, then with all the other kids who had talents like mine, then stuff for Horizon motosports, Wreathride bikes, skateboard companies, the brands I had sponsorships with. I did more exhibitions, more shows, stuff at malls and skateparks and hames. My Triple Gold Games appearence that year got me the biggest applause I've gotten so far. I  The entire summer became a cross-country press meet for me and 149 other teenagers who went through the same experience.

I was now Jack Guerrero, America's Best Teenage Daredevil.

* * *

 “Mr. Guerrero, let's begin.”

It's August, a day before school starts. I'm sitting in a sorta comfortable office, somewhere in Washington D.C., in a velvet chair in front of a wooden desk with a small tablet computer, a few loose papers that were really the only sort of clutter on his desk, and a nameplate saying “ **DR. ALEXANDER WELLING** **,** **SUPERINTENDENT** ”. Behind the desk is a balding, sort of thick old man in a clean suit. The nameplate probably belonged to him, but I still had the doubt in the back of my mind that he was lying to me.

Dr. Welling shuffled the papers in front of him before continuing. “So, Mr. Guerrero, how do you feel about coming to Columbia National Academy?”

I avoided eye contact for a little bit, glaring at the black two-piece suit I was wearing and focusing on how much I fucking _hated_ it. “It's alright.”

“Just alright?” Welling leaned over his desk for a little bit. “Mr. Guerrero, you're attending the highest school in the entire nation, and it's _alright?_ ”

“Well…I-I mean, I'm honored. I'm just…it's sudden, ya'know? I only got the letter, what, like three months ago? I thought I'd have time to…I dunno.” Before the interview, my mom coached me on sounding professional. Her coaching lasted me all of two minutes.

Welling typed something down on his tablet and continued. “Next question…what did you know about Columbia National Academy before being informed that you were attending?”

I knew that we totally fucking stole it from the Japanese. “I was, uh, aware that Japan set up a similar school more than a few years ago. And that Russia created its...National Scholastic Academy four years ago. And, that, well, pretty much every national superpower made school like this.”

Wellington smiled. “It’s National _Scholars_ Academy.”

Fuck you.

“What do these schools do, Mr. Guerrero?”

Why was he asking me this? Why was he asking me _any_ of this? “They, like, scout the nation, looking for the best of the best in the certain field. So if the school thinks you're the greatest, like, teen Mathematician in America, you're admitted, and you're given the title of America's Best Teenage Mathematician… Look, don't you know this?”

“I'm just testing your knowledge of world affairs.” Like everyone didn't fucking know it the moment Japan announced it all thode years ago. 

Another quick note on his tablet. “Now, would you change your title?”

“No, I'm pretty happy being a Daredevil. Sounds…neat.”

"It was originally "Skater", but then we became aware of your motorcross, and your BASE jumping..." BASE jumping. The thing I only did once.

He glanced down at that damn pad, pausing before adding something and reading a list that I couldn't make out. “I think that's everything, Mr. Guerrero. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, I-I mean...yeah, why are you asking me this?"

Welling paused. "Well, I do these interviews just to get a general idea of the students in this school. I've always liked to know my students."

That was...I guess it was okay. "Alright."

“Well, I'm sure your mother's waiting for you downstairs,” Welling reached over, and we shook hands. “You can excuse yourself now.”

“Pleasure talking to you.”

I left without another word, walking out of the stale air of his sparsely decorated office and entering the hallway of the top floor of the Columbia National Academy Administrative Building. First stop: the bathroom at the end of the hall. I hid my old lucky jacket in one of the stalls here. Mom wouldn't let me wear it over my 'nice' thrift store suit, but I didn't want to go up without it. 

 I unbuttoned the suit jacket, throwing it over the toilet seat, showing off my New Mexico Motocross Association t-shirt that I sneaked underneath it, and put on the leather jacket, the one with the coffin with angel wings on the back, and all the other patches on it that I thought was so goddamned cool. I tossed the black jacket over my shoulder, got out of the bathroom, and beelined for the elevator. 

Inside the elevator (which, thankfully, came up quickly), I pressed the button for the lobby. Instead, the bottom floor button lighted up. That's our fucking government for you, I guess. Would give me time to think up for a better way it could've gone to tell my mom. 

While I was thinking of how Dr. Wellington could tell me that I exceeded all expectations, I silently noted that the air was getting…well, heavier. I was probably just nervous, though. 

No, wait it's definitely getting…stiffer. Hotter. Is it just me? Wait, that was a stupid thing to ask, I'm the only person here.

Unbuttoned my jacket. Fanned myself with the suit. Christ, I just wan _t_ to…

Sleep. Why am I _sl e_ epy? Jus t yo urne _r_ ve s. I ts fi ne. S ta _yca_ lm . Br e _a_ the. B r e a t _h_ e. Bre a th ed _e e_


	2. We Are Live 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack falls down falls down, gets up, meets his new friends, and nothing is explained.

I awoke in a strange room, having no idea where I was-okay, wait, no, thats way to calm and rational sounding. Here's how it actually went:

I was sprawled out on som _where am i oh god whe_ hard, cold floor. My head was absolutely fucking killing _what’s going on why am i her_ me, and my heart was going to pop at any second. To top everything off; I was absolutely terrifi _am i dying oh god i'm_ ed, afraid to open my eyes out of fear of my surroundings.

Seconds passed, then minutes. As far as I knew, nothing around me changed. My heart rate slowly returned to what I assumed was normal, and my mind began to clear itself up. Was I safe?

My eyelids slowly opened, almost by themselves, and were immediately blinded by bright lights directly above me. My eyes closed back up, my head throbbed in pain, and something covered them-my hands, most likely.

“FUCK!” A gravelly voice broke the silence, disturbingly close to m-oh, wait, shit, was that mine? I didn’t feel like I was in control of anything-my body was acting on it's own, and I was just along for the ride.

My arms retracted, and my eyes opened once again. The lights did not blind me completely, rather, they dulled and shrunk in front of me, revealing an ornate chandelier made out of some sort of metal, hanging from the ceiling made from dark wood. So at least wherever I was, the person in charge of it had good taste.

Okay, let's try standing up…Jack? Am I still Jack right now? I sat up, after a long embarrassing period of thought, managed to rise completely. Stumbling around a bit, not quite sure how to walk; I slowly paced around the room I was trapped in. The walls were a dull grey, and there were two golden frames hanging on opposite walls. For whatever reason, the only things housed within them were solid black. Fine, fuck, whatever, too busy dealing with headaches to be an art critic.

I ended up doing two laps around the room before realizing a pretty damn big detail; a pair of wooden doors with golden knobs. When I staggered to them, I began hearing something coming from the other side of the door.  I tried to focus and listen, as much as my headache would allow me. There were definitely voices in the next room, arguing about…something. But voices meant people, and people might mean answers.

Fuck it, might as well. I messed with the knob, slowly pushed open the door, and peered into the new room.

Teenagers, about a dozen of them, huddled in a group, maybe more. They were in a heated debate, but I wasn't able to hear the details. The pain was dulling my senses. The room itself was large and long, with two hallways sprouting off right in front of me I took a cautious step out, unsure of what to say to get everyone's attention. Thankfully, a small, girlish voice from behind took care of it for me.

“H-Hey everyone! He's awake!”

Thanks. I peered over my shoulder to see the source of the words, and found a tiny girl, couldn't be more than 5 feet tall, with orange braided hair and wearing some sort of sash above a green blouse and dark green skirt. She was looking at me with big blue eyes and an awed expression. My vision faded in and out as I stared at her, trying to understand her existence.

“Hey man, took you long enough!” A slick voice rang out in front of me. I turned my head around just in time to see a younger-looking teen with a loud, blue Hawaiian shirt and denim jeans, and his short, black, grey maybe, hair slicked back. The wide grin on his face looked a bit unnatural, but it was still the friendliest face I've seen so far. Behind him, I could barely make out around a dozen other figures, maybe more.

I tried to answer the best I could with a headache that took up most of my thinking. “What’s...”

The boy responded, but my head started to make a decent effort to kill me. I cringed and placed a hand to my temple. The kid stopped talking, looked at me funny, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?”

Some feminine voice rang out in the background. “Hey, is he alright? What's going on?” When I tried to find my newest friend, everything began to blur together.

“I-I…” Shit, heart's going crazy again. “Don't…” Christ, am I actually dying? Every pain I felt suddenly intensified, my body felt really heavy, and I only saw the inside of my eyelids. The last thing I heard was something heavy hitting the floor and several screaming voices.

* * *

 

Light slowly bled through my eyelids as I awoke. I celebrated the fact that I was alive by screaming in terror, probably because, right before I passed out and made a fool of myself, I had convinced myself I was dying, and I thought I was in the afterlife or something. I am not a smart man.

“Oh, cool, he’s awake,” the face of the kid with the short back hair entered my vision, and I was finally able to study him closer. His hair was black, slightly slicked back, and a rather handsome, wide face. “How’re you feeling, man?”

“Fine.” No headache, no heart-going-fucking-crazy, so yeah, fine. I examined my surroundings to the best of my ability, and after finding that I was resting on a brown leather couch, I rose to a sitting position. The walls were paneled with a dark wood, and directly in front of me was an absolutely huge flat-screen television, with a cabinet full of technological box-shaped devices.

“Oh, by the way,” he stuck his hand out, still grinning. “I'm Gordon Sandler, ‘America’s Best Teenage’ Surgeon.”

Admittedly, I had done a little research on most (well, all) of the 150 people admitted into C.N.A., or, at least, I had read a short synopsis of their life on the multiple online galleries that had sprung up over the summer. I knew that Gordon, from Hawaii, had only performed one surgery, though he’s done multiple on cadavers (gross), and he capable of juggling both medical classes (not full medical school) and high school. Meanwhile, I was in remedial classes and could only remember the make and models of most of the BMX bikes I owned and the different skateboards I had hanging up in my garage.

“Jack Guerrero, A-B-T Daredevil.” We shook hands. I glanced around the room, looking for other students, and the only other person I could see was a girl with a white trenchcoat, long black socks, boots, and a satchel, with her golden yellow hair cut short and bobbed, shooting out a bit at the tips, with and the kind of soft face you only see in on women in advertisements. She immediately leaned forward and smiled.

“Oh, you’re that skater guy, right? From New Mexico?”

“Yeah,” slowly, I began to recognize her. Dianna Chubbuck, A.B.T. Journalist. Practically runs her hometown newspaper back home in Connecticut, and she’s done a few opinion pieces and guest work for some of the bigger ones. She also interviewed most of the New England-area C.N.A. enrollees, and planned to get to the others before the summer let out. “So, uh, Dianna, right? Do you know where we are?”

“Wait, how do you know m-oh, hehe, sorry. Still used to the ‘being famous’ thing,” She smiled sheepishly. “We don’t know. It’s not Columbia National. Remember the tours we did? I don’t remember seeing this place on campus. It’s more like a…house, or mansion, or whatever. And there’s…uh…” Her smile faded and was replaced with a fearful pout, and she sighed heavily. “Guns…there’s guns hanging from the ceiling. And, uh, cameras.”

I looked at the ceiling of whatever room we were in. Sure enough, in the corner, there was a large machine gun hanging from the ceiling, making my heart skip a beat. In a different corner of the room, a big camera, like the ones you’d find on a TV show set was suspended from the ceiling, with a red light showing that it was recording.

My investigation was cut short by Dianna, speaking up again, her voice returning to its normal pitch. “So, that’s the situation so far! Right now we’re just waiting for…something…to happen.” She shrugged.

Alright. I only passed out in an elevator and woke up in a fucking mansion with guns everywhere. ”Are you sure we don’t know anything? You guys have looked around, right? Wait, how long have I been out?”

“Eh…about two hours. But nobody’s counting.” Gordon chuckled to himself.

Shit. I had been knocked out before, and I've had two concussions before. Passing out for even thirty minutes is bad, two hours is a whole other ballgame.

“And, uh, no, we haven’t found anything. Like, twenty locked doors. A lot of screens and cameras and…guns.” Dianna’s voice got more ashamed.

“So… are all 150 students here?”

Gordon leaned in, relieved about his answer. “Only 15. Counting us four. Want to meet them?”

Four? I looked behind me, looking for this other person. I don’t know how I could’ve missed him: standing in the back, arms crossed. He had an absolutely huge frame, like he was fed nothing but steak for his entire life, a thick, full face, wearing a gold and red jersey with a wildcat on the front, and tan cargo shorts, with his brown hair worn in dreads and tied behind his head. The muscular dude smiled a bit. “Russell Rameses. Quarterback.”

Russell, from Louisiana, was an absolute beast on the football field, and he’s apparently worked hard to get his name known for things other than throwing balls good. Accomplished poet, (though I wouldn't have guessed it from the short interviews he gave), anti-bullying crusader, (understandable, I guess), and a mimor track and field athelete in his spare time.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“So, Jack…” Dianna eagerly said into my ear, making me feel violated. “Wanna go and meet your new friends?”

“Don’t got anything better to do, don’t I?” I hoisted myself off the couch, and after locating the door, I walked towards it. The journalist bounced over towards me and stood by my side as I opened the door and stepped into the new area.

I found myself in a hallway, with dark grey paint and that fancy wooden crap that takes up half of the wall. Before I could investigate further, I heard an apathetic voice from under me.

“Oh, hey, you’re alive.”

The high-pitched, kind of nasal voice apparently belonged to a thin-faced, baggy-eyed girl sitting against the wall by the door, wearing a black hoodie under a large grey coat, shredded jeans, and long, kina messy red hair hiding underneath a grey skull cap. She was toying with an acoustic guitar as she stared at me.

“Yeah. That a problem?” The first person I had met apparently hated me. Awesome.

She rolled her eyes. “Hoping I could see a dead body today.”

Dianna smiled and stepped between us, eager to play damage control. “Uh, Jack, this is Sarah Kingston, A.B.T Independent Musician. Sarah, this is Jack Guerrero, A.B.T Daredevil.“

Sarah Kingston, home state Washington. Folk music icon, winner of multiple awards, all without ever signing to a label. Apparently, her dad was a music mogul and helped produce her songs and albums, which they sold online. I tried listening to some of her stuff, it’s a far cry from the punk/emo/indie/whatever-the-fuck music I prefer to hear.

“Yeah, you’re the kid who likes to jump off of canyons, right?”

“Hey, I only did that once, and I had a parachute.”

“Ever done it without one?”

I sighed. "I prefer living."

She smiled and rolled her eyes.

Fuck you.

I stepped out a bit into the new room and investigated my surroundings. Like the other room, this one had either a camera or a machine gun hanging from the corners for some fucking reason. The grey walls had the occasional gold-framed painting hanging in various places, but the paintings themselves were just black. I leaned out a little bit, and saw a long stretch of hallway with an intersection halfway through it to my left. On my right was a door that simply had two ‘I’s on it in some silver-ish metal. “Big, isn’t it?” The journalist spoke up from behind me. “Want the grand tour?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Okay!”

Dianna began to lead me down to the left, but something made me resist her tugging on my jacket. Standing in front of a door was a tall young woman, with her completely silver-white hair tied in a large braid that reached her waist. She was wearing glasses, and had on a black jacket with a long black skirt, and what I think was some sort of red tie. She was staring at the wall, apparently investigating something on it, and hopefully not just staring at it out of boredom.

Dianna caught my attention, and leaned in, surprisingly forgiving of my resistance. “That’s Caroline Frasier. A.B.T Psychologist. She’s, like, _insanely_ smart.” She giggled at her own joke. Someone here likes to make puns, apparently. _Fucking kill me_.

Anyway, Caroline Frasier, from Utah. She’s like Gordon, in that she’s able to attend lectures on the human brain and still excel in high school. She’s also found the time to write at least three books on psychology, none of which I had ever heard of, but they were apparently really good. 

I nodded, made my way towards Caroline, and stood by her side. Apparently, instead of staring at the wall like I admit to doing sometimes, she was studying a door, made out of some deep red fabric with gold around its edges, with a long golden bar in place of a handle. I was able finally able to look at her face, and to my surprise, everything seemed…small. Tiny eyes that her frameless glasses made seem gigantic, small nose, small mouth. After a few moments of absolutely nothing happening, I leaned forward and asked her something.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

“I am considering the purpose of this manor. Everything seems out of place. The paintings are black, this gilded door seems more fit for a theater or something like that, and down the hall, there’s a door that is in an obvious state of disrepair…” She responded, in a flat voice, not even bothering to look my way.

“Uh, Okay. Oh, by the way, I’m-”

“Jack Guerrero, America’s Best Teenage ‘Daredevil’. You live with your adopted mother in Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico, and you own 45 different skateboards of different brand, and at least six different bikes. You also own a motorcycle, which you use in freestyle motocross competitions. You also have five different sponsors and you do around fifteen different exhibitions a year, along with annual appearances at the Triple Gold Games.” Caroline spoke surprisingly quickly, given her previous little speech, though she didn't raise her voice.

“I…uh, how did you know all that?”

Her voice returned to its normal rate. “I researched you online, read your interviews, your articles. I did it for everyone.”

“Ah...I'm sorry, I don't know that much stuff about you, in case you were wondering."

She sighed, eying me without turning her head. "What is there to know about me?"

I shrugged. "I mean, you know about me being adopted. I don't know your family stuff."

She gave a weird half-smile. "There is nothing interesting about that, trust me."

"Whatever you say."

She stopped looking at me. “I overheard that Dianna is giving you a tour of this manor. Do not let me keep you.”

“Sure.” I nodded and left the psychologist alone, returning to Dianna.

"Wow, you guys talked a while. What did she say?”

I shrugged, and Dianna shrugged with me, smiled and grabbed my hand again, walking me down to the right and through the hallway to the right, and leading me through a door on the left wall.

The new room was very wide, and completely concrete, with dim lights hanging from the ceiling. There were shelves lining the long walls, stocked with shapes of different colors and sizes. On the far wall was a washing machine and a dryer. Inspecting one of the shelves was a kid with blue jeans, a bright yellow button-up shirt with the top few buttons unbuttoned, and swept back dark brown hair. His well-sculpted face was immediately recognizable, even for someone who didn't pay much attention to the media.

Weston Sailors, from New York, was, well, everything that a preteen girl could want in a guy. He had a great singing voice, attractive body, a popular fashion model, and he’s starred in at least three different blockbuster movies. Nowadays, he’s mostly stuck to his modeling gig, though his past from his middle school years makes him still pretty famous. He could probably get involved with any C.N.A. girl he wanted to. Unfortunately for the paparazzi, he chose to remain abstinent.

“Oh, hey, Weston!” Dianna let go of my hand and waved at the kid. Weston perked his head up, looked at the blonde, and smiled, before glancing at me and frowning. He began walking-rather, striding over to us, before bowing.

“ _Weston Sailors_ , America’s Best Teenage Male Model. And who might I have the pleasure of speaking too, Dianna?” His voice was airy, and was a bit too stuffy for my tastes.

“Jack Guerrero, A.B.T. Daredevil.”

Weston clapped his hands together. “So, Jack, is it? How do you like this place so far?”

“Uh…it’s…okay?” I wasn't sure if I could answer truthfully, since I've only seen two fucking rooms and a hallway.

"Oh, I meant to ask, is everything okay with you?" He leaned forward, his face concerned.

Dianna jumped in. "Yeah, I wanted to ask you that, too. Are you still feeling alright? Two hours is a long time to be knocked out."

I shrugged. "I feel fine, but I'll have that surgeon kid look at me later." I lied. I didn't trust a surgeon with any regular doctor stuff.

"That's a good idea!" Weston smiled. "Gordon is very knowledgable about these sort of things. I don't want you to faint again!" 

"Me neither!" Dianna chimed. God, why are so many people expressing concern for me all of a sudden?

"Well, I hope I'm not keeping you fdom that appointment." Weston clappes his hands together. It was kind of obvious he wanted us out.

"Actually, I'm giving Jack a tour! Dianna said."

"Oh, that sounds fun. You two best be going, then! No sense in hanging around a boring boy like me any longer." He waved his hand and returned to investigating the shelves. Dianna waved back at the male model, grabbed my hand, and led me out of the door.

She walked me over to a trio of doors on the right wall. The leftmost one appeared to be what the psychologist down the hall described; it was made out of a rusted grey metal with several dents in it and a banged-up door handle. Right next to it was an extra-large black painting, followed by two doors, one blue and the other pink.

“The ones on the right are restrooms, the blue ones for guys and the others for girls. We don’t know where that weird-lookin’ one goes. Oh, do you have to ‘go’?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, now come _on_ , you got more people to meet!” Dianna dragged me to a door on the far end of the hall, made out of a nice, shiny metal.

The inside of the room was made out of dark grey concrete, like the room with the male model in it. It was small, with two sets of stairs directly in front of me, one going up and the other going down. A rather skeletal looking teenager, messy orange hair, with sunken-in eyes behind thick glasses, and a black sweater vest pulled over a navy blue shirt with black dress pants, was sitting on the stairs going up. Dianna, surprisingly, payed no mind to the kid and led me down the stairs, where a single metal door lit up by a single light bulb was waiting for us.

“So, we don’t know where this door leads, exactly, since it’s locked…” Dianna began, before leaning in and whispering in my ear. “That kid up there is Franklin Mason, A-B-T Film Director.”

Where to fucking begin with Franklin Mason? He’s worked on five different documentaries, ranging from popular conspiracy theories to teenage homelessness. He’s gone to crazy lengths for his work, like going undercover as a poor kid in his Idaho hometown to see how other people responded to him for a whole month. He also has one nonfiction film under his belt, a low-budget thriller about a government raid on a undercover spy. I wasn't able to watch any of them, but apparently they were excellent. Of course.

“He seems okay, but he’s a little bit…”

“Smart?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. But, well, he grilled me for a couple minutes about…uh, what did he call it…never mind, just, uh, take everything he says with a grain of salt, ‘kay?”

I paused, trying to figure out what exactly that meant. Dianna quickly grabbed me by the hand, walked me up the stairs again, and climbed the next flight, passing by Franklin. The two of us locked eyes, and he stared at me as if to say _“I heard every word of that, fucker.”_

As we climbed the stairs, I tried to think about the different people I've met so far and how little of an impression they've left on me so far. A couple of them were completely indifferent to me, and only a handful were helpful, with one trying really too hard. And, of course, nobody knew a fucking thing, why we were here, what’s up with those fucking guns…

I sighed. Of course.


	3. We Are Live 2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack meets everyone.

There was another flight of stairs at the top of the one we were climbing, with a wooden door at the top. Dianna Chubbuck, America’s Best Teenage Journalist and my apparently new best friend, gestured towards it.

“This is the upper floor. I think it’s for bedrooms.”

“Why?”

She wordlessly pushed open the door and walked me through it. The upper floor was decorated exactly the same as the floor below it; grey walls, wood crap, and different golden-framed black paintings hanging from the walls. It was in the same cross layout. On the far end of the hallway I could see some young women leaning against the wall.

“Check it out!” Dianna pulled me down the hallway, past a pair of blue and pink doors, and walked me to the right. The walls were lined with doors-four on each side, making for eight on each side of the cross…16 in total, I thought to myself, before Dianna caught my attention by pointing to a door. Nailed to the wood was a golden plate, with the side of a face carved into it. After Dianna did some extensive ‘modeling’, I saw that the face on the plate was hers.

“Everyone has one, even you!” She pointed to a face on a door next to hers. The face had a very thin layer of hair, almost nonexistent, and a bony face, with sunken in eyes and thin lips. A spitting fucking image.

“So anyway, I think these are gonna be our dorms, or rooms or something, while we’re here.”

“Wonderful.” Slowly, I started to process what she said. Something didn’t seem right. “Wait, why can’t we just leave, instead of staying here until whenever?”

Dianna looked at me sadly, making me feel bad for asking the question. “We’ve, uh, looked for an exit. There’s, uh…” She counted on her fingers before returning to the conversation. “Six locked doors, not counting these, I think. So one of them might lead somewhere else, but we’re stuck here for now. I mean, I’m sure we’ll be able to leave soon!” As she spoke, she kept glancing towards the machine gun hanging in on the celling of the hallway, before her eyes landed on the girl leaning against the wall.

“Oh, hey, you haven’t met J.J. yet, have you?” Dianna began dragging be my arm, her favorite thing to do to me besides explaining things. “Come on, you’ll love her!”

She brought me in front of a freakishly tall teenage girl leaning against the wall,  a relatively strong ‘don’t fuck with me’ face, with a white tank top, baggy cargo pants, and a red, plaid shirt tied loosely around her waist, with her deep brown hair tied up in a small bun. Dianna, of course, began the introductions.

“J.J., this is Jack. Jack, this is J.J. Rochester, A.B.T Jockey!”

Hailing from New Hampshire, J.J. is a rodeo star and a top equestrian, whatever the hell that meant. She’s won a completely crazy amount of money simply from only horse races, rather than bets, and she has at least one rodeo record for…bull riding? Something like that.

She seemed a little tall for a jockey, but I rolled with it. J.J. began talking to me with some sort of Western accent (that seemed a little fake, but not too annoying.)

“So, the dead man walking, eh?” The jockey smiled and grabbed me by the shoulder. It was probably meant to be friendly but _holy shit it fucking hurt_. “Nah, I’m just jokin’. Hey, you alright? You were out for a while, we thought you gone up the flume, if you get me.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think.” I weaseled out of her grip, and dusted myself out. “Jack Guerrero, A.B.T. Daredevil.”

“Oh, you’re that motorcross kid, right? Hey, how different do you think riding a motorcycle is from a bull?”

“A lot, I guess.” I had absolutely no idea what she was trying to do, maybe small talk?

“Heh, you’re on the mark. If you ever want to add a new part to your act, hit me up sometime, alright?”

Dianna stepped in. “So, me and Jack here have to go meet the rest of our friends. We’ll see you later!”

J.J. nodded, smiled, and leaned back against the wall, and the journalist took my hand and started walking me to the right down another hall, an exact duplicate of the hall on the right, though the carvings on the door were different, from what I could make out. The short kid standing at the end of the hallway playing with a sort of black box was new too, I guess. He had black hair spiked up, ending in white tips, with thin framed glasses, and he was dressed in a navy blue hoodie, with some sort of white logo on the front of it, with a pair of black pants.

“Malcolm!” Dianna walked me to the kid, who put away his little box, smiled, and leaned forward with his hands in his pockets.

“Malcolm Cole, Entrepeneur, President of DiamaWare Computer Technology. I’d give you a business card, but they must be with my luggage. And you must be, uh…James, Jack? Sorry, my hearing ain’t too great.”

Thankfully, Malcolm took care of the introduction for me. He founded DiamaWare five years back with his dad in Missouri, after spending most of his younger years fixing up old computers. After making some investments and buying some space, it’s now it’s one of the top technology giants in America, selling everything from custom smartphones to printers. He’s definitely one of the richest people admitted to C.N.A., if not _the_ richest.

“Jack Guerrero. A.B-“

“Daredevil, right? Man, I saw you when you did one of your St. Louis shows. That backflip you did on your cycle…you gotta show me how to do that sometime, man! Makes me wish I got a bike for my fifth birthday instead of a HX Quadcore motherboard.”

“Speaking of…that…did you get that thing working yet?” Dianna said, pointing to the object in Malcolm’s pocket (hopefully).

He pulled out a small, slender, shiny box, and started pushing a small button on the side of it to no effect. “Nope. I took it apart and put it back together, what, five times now? Everything’s there, but the damn thing won’t even turn on.” Given the context, I assumed what he was holding in his hands was some sort of phone.

“Sorry about that. Uh, tell me when you get that thing fixed, okay? I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.”

“Sure thing, man. You go have fun, alright? I need to work more on this little problem.” Malcolm waved goodbye and, with a little bit of struggling, popped open the back of the phone-device-thing. Dianna nodded and took my hand again, walking me back towards the stairwell.

We climbed down the stairs again, with Franklin Mason or whoever curiously absent from his lonesome space on the side of the stairs. Without any complications, we passed through the door to the ground (?) level.

We were greeted by a slow, mournful, somewhat out of tune song played on acoustic guitar, probably from the independent musician girl. Dianna stopped to listen and appreciate the tune, before asking me if I had to use the bathroom again. I said no, so she smiled and walked me down the hall and to the left, an area of the house/mansion I wasn’t very familiar with. It looked identical to the other wing, with a one door to the left and a door with an “I” on it at the far end of the hall. Dianna slowly walked to the left door, in time with Sarah’s strumming, and opened it for me like a gentleman. (Gentlewoman? Lady?)

The new room was long, with wood paneled walls and floors, with a long red carpet taking up most of the room. In the middle was a long wooden table, with curves and other fancy crap carved into it, making it look very expensive, with sixteen chairs seated around it. At the far end of the room was an absolutely huge fireplace with an obviously fake fire ‘roaring’ inside on a screen, and a steel door on the wall to the right of the fireplace. Standing next to the fireplace and staring at the screen playing the fake fire was a young woman with long dirty blonde hair, with some sort of brown fringed jacket and cargo pants, and a red bandana wrapped around her left arm. Sitting at the table was a very young girl, with a literal child’s face, bright orange pigtailed hair, a light green shirt, darker green skirt and a brown sash covered in multicolored, different shaped patches, who I almost-immediately recognized her as the girl that brought my horrible state to everyone else’s attention. Her head was resting on the table, depressed. Dianna immediately left me behind, sat next to the girl, and started talking to her in a comforting manner that I really couldn’t hear, effectively leaving me to my own devices. With nothing better to do than wait for my guide to return, I walked closer to the blonde-ish girl.

“Uh, hey. What’s up?” I tried to talk to the blonde girl as best I could. Apparently, either my presence caught her off guard or she was very jumpy. Either way, she jolted to attention and jerked her head towards me, showing off large, bright brown eyes and small everything-else-on-her-face, before suddenly relaxing at the sight of me.

“Oh, hello. You’re, uh, the dead guy, right? I mean…well, you know what I mean.”

“Sure. And who exactly are you?”

She twisted all the way towards me, put her hands on her hips, and smiled proudly. “Sophia Pineada, America’s Best Teenage Activist!”

Sophia Pineada was one of those people that you really couldn’t go a month without hearing about on the news. One day it’s a pro-choice rally in Washington D.C., the next day it’s an anti-logging chain-up in her home state of California. Apparently, the red bandana around her arm was to show where she once got shot by a sniper at one of her protests, which was pretty obviously bullshit.

“Jack Guerrero, Daredevil.”

“Hey, I’ve heard about you! My little brother is a huge fan! He has your posters and we try to go every time you come to Pasadena. He even has your skateboard!”

The skateboard she was mentioning was a limited-run made by Yuck!Decks, with my signature angel-winged coffin on the underside, and red and black wheels. It was super rare, and I have one of 1,000. I was impressed, and I tried to say that I was before I noticed that Sophia’s expression changed to disappointed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, your jacket.” Sophia looked at me, disappointed. “That’s real leather, I can tell. Well, I mean…no, it’s fine. It might not even be yours.” She was clearly faking her words through clenched teeth.

Seriously? My jacket? “What, does it bother you?”

Before she could answer, Dianna, of course, walked over to us and put her hand on my shoulder. “You two getting along?” She leaned towards the other girl before continuing. “Hey, Sophia, I gotta show off my new friend to the rest of the kids, if that’s alright!”

“Uh…sure? Have fun, I guess…” Sophia gave a half-hearted wave and watched the two of us leave.

The journalist brought me in front of the orange-haired girl and began the introductions. “Jack, this is Nancy Marigold, A.B.T Scout!”

Nancy was probably the youngest person here, and one of the youngest people admitted to the school. She was known for pretty much being the face of the Arbor Club, America’s largest girl youth organization, reaching the rank of ‘Redwood’ or something before her freshman year of high school. She collected merit badges like they were candy and, at least according to one list that tended to exaggerate pretty much everyone on it (including me), had an encyclopedic knowledge about wildlife, especially in her state of Minnesota.

“Hi. I’m Jack Guerrero, America's Best Teenage Daredevil.” I unconsciously chose a softer mode of speaking when I introduced myself, trying to silence my voice’s natural roughness.

She smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

I tried to smile, and I wasn’t sure how well I did. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, just…”She almost started one word, but then switched to another. “Bored.”

“Huh. Alright.” I attempted smiling again, but this wasn’t as good, since Dianna, of fucking course, cut into the conversation.

“Hey, we have to go see the rest of the kids now, if you need anything you can grab me, okay?”

Nancy kinda smiled, and placed her head on her hands.

“I think Samson is still in the kitchen. Come on!” She pointed to the metal door by the fireplace, which we quickly started walking towards.

The new room was completely covered in a sort of stainless metal, with counters hugging all four walls, cupboards hanging from the ceiling, and a large island in the middle, with two very large fridges on the right wall, around ten different appliances, three or four of which I really had no idea what they were for other than sporting very sharp tools, and a needlessly huge oven on the left. Inspecting the oven was a really, _really_ fucking tall and lanky teenager, with a rugged face and short brown hair, with matching stubble, a plain looking striped white and pale red polo, and black slacks.

“Samson, this is-“

The guy known as Samson rocketed up from his leaning position, smoothly closing the oven door in the process, strided over to where we were standing by the door, and violently shook my hand.

“Well, if it isn’t the dead fella himself! Oh, I’m only kidding. A fine hello to you, sir! My name is Mr. Samson M. Dalene, America’s Best Teenage Agriculturalist, an, uh, fancy term for ‘farmer’, hailing from the great state of Nebraska!” He spoke quickly, with a slightly attractive twang to his voice.

Samson’s famous for working his Nebraska farm almost single-handedly, with his parents too busy with their jobs. Apparently, his family inherited the farmland and he was the only one who tried to learn what to do, how to take care of the animals, etc. He slowly transformed from a spoiled brat to an old-fashioned country boy, something he’s proud of.

“Now, at the risk of sounding too much like a hick, I gotta say that this is the most impressive house I have ever been in! Doesn’t compare to me and my parent’s five room little shack, not one bit! And this kitchen! Well, I certainly hope that we don’t have a personal chef here; I’ve been dying to use a kitchen like this for a while! The fridge’s chock full of good ingredients, too. The more I look at this place, the more it seems like heaven!”

“Really?”

“Well, of course! Ignoring the, well, quite mysterious circumstances, which I’m sure will get explained soon enough, there’s plenty of space, good people…speaking of which, I don’t believe we’ve been formerly acquainted-sorry for not letting you speak, I, eh, get a little wound up sometimes.”

Dianna had been dying for a chance to talk. “Samson, this is Jack Guerrero, Super High School Level Daredevil.”

“Ah, that’s nice, real nice. You ride motorbikes, right? I used to have an old 1940’s motorbike in our barn, but I fixed that thing up and sold it. It was an old…Sly 600 200cc, I think.”

Lucky bastard. I saw a Sly 600 model go for around 100 thousand dollars at an auction, and that thing was beat to all hell. I guess that’s since there were only, like, what, ten thousand made, but still.

“Well, you’re showing him around, ain’t you, Dianna? Well, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I really want him to see the rest of our friends. How many more people you got?”

Dianna counted on her fingers, mouthing off names to herself, before answering. “Only two, I think!” Tugging at my jacket’s sleeve, she continued. “Come on, let’s go find them!” She waved to Samson, rushed me out of the door and through the dining room before entering the hallway again.

“Well, we’ve seen every room that we can, haven’t we? I wonder where Edwin and Rebecca are…”

“What if they’re in the bathrooms?”

“Gross! I’m not gonna let you meet one of your new friends in a bathroom!” She made a gagging motion, which I hoped was fake.

Dianna led me near the entrance to the room where I woke up in, with the TV. We passed by Sarah, plucking at her guitar and mumbling to herself about _why is this damn thing not in tune yet_ or something like that. Dianna smiled at her, said a ‘hi’ that was not returned, and held the door open for me.

The surgeon and the quarterback were in the room, with two new people settled around the room. Gordon was messing with the machines in the cabinet under the television, with Russel just leaning back against the wall, looking up, eyes open. There was a girl on the couch, with short and smooth light brown hair, wearing some sort of suit vest and black pants, with her well-groomed head leaned back and staring at the ceiling, and in the back of the room, investigating a cabinet stocked with multicolored boxes and tables on either side of it, was a somewhat large, short boy wearing a simple white shirt and light grey pants, with a sort of black and white checkered tie, and black hair that was spiked upwards and forward. Dianna immediately rushed over by the brown haired girl and sat down next to her on the couch, chatting away as if they just spoke five minutes ago, and out of options, I snuck over to the simply dressed kid.

As I crept closer, I noticed that the cabinet he was looking at was full of board games – shit that little kids would probably play, not teenagers. The boy was too busy checking out one box in particular. I tapped his shoulder, which he responded by jumping back, holding the box up to either protect his face or ready to knock out all of my fucking teeth. After he studied me for a bit, he relaxed a bit, lowering the game, apparently a chess set. He stuck out his hand, smirking, eyes narrowed. “Edwin Pescatore, A.B.T Grandmaster…uh, ‘chess master’. Who the fuck are you?”

Edwin’s scary good at chess. He won the Oregon state championship at thirteen and hasn’t looked back since. He’s currently also an International master, an Elo rating of 2507, whatever that meant, and a shitton of other titles. He’s also surprisingly secretive, apparently only appearing for championships and little else. I guess his personality had something to do something with it.

“Jack Guerrero, A.B.T Dardevil.”

“Oh, yeah, the idiot with a deathwish.”

“I’m _sorry?_ ”

He rolled his eyes, suddenly making his face _very_ punchable. “I mean, they’re easier ways to kill yourself. You don’t have to break every bone in your body fifteen times to do it, right?”

I sighed. “Listen, you should just shut the _fuck_ up right now, or-“

“What? Man, I was only joking.”

I mumbled something under my breath, he asked for clarification, I didn’t give it to him, and I silently wanted Dianna to come around and save me, which she didn’t.

“Whatever. Nice meeting you.” Fucking idiot.

“Yeah.”

I slowly crept over to wherever Dianna and the other girl were talking. The fashionable girl was lazily sprawled over the couch, head hanging off the back

“Jack, this is-“

She rolled her head up suddenly. “Rebecca Penn…America’s Best Teenage Philantropist.”

Rebecca was the chairwoman of the non-for-profit Penn Foundation, located in Houston, Texas. According to some sources, her father died and left her a huge inheritance. Other lists said her family won the lottery and she used the money to start it. All I really knew is that she has, like, five years’ worth of community service, charity drives, and volunteer work in foreign countries, and she did it all with a smile on her face.

“You’re Jack Guerrero, the Daredevil, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I think we met before…some speaking tour about scholarships for athletes, at the stop in Santa Fe,”

I vaguely remembered what she talked about. It was an informational seminar put on by the Penn Foundation that my mom wanted me to go to in my freshman year. We briefly met at the hotel, talked for a little bit. I’m surprised she remembered after two years.

“It’s nice to meet you.” As she stuck her hand out, the air was suddenly filled with static, slowly coming to life to form a voice. A sharp, harsh, unexpected voice. Everyone froze and looked up.

“Uh, attention-this thing on? Hello, this is…well, you’ll know soon enough. I’d like everyone to report to the theater room _ASAP_.”

Dianna immediately turned to me after a long silence. “Do…do you know who that was?”

“Fuck if I know, but…I mean, at least we’ll learn something, right?”

Funny. I’m finally learning something at this school.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: If you don't like most of the characters, a lot of them will die!


	4. Above The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns something, our setting is further explained, and some rules are set.

Most of the kids had gathered outside in the hallways, with no clue as to where the Theater was.. In the small crowd, I noticed Franklin standing alone. I realized that I wasn’t able to introduce myself, since he was so busy brooding, so I slid over to him.

“Hi…Jack Guerrero, A.B.T Daredevil. You’re Franklin Mason, right?”

Franklin looked at me, shook my hand, and returned to looking at the wall. Ass.

“Alright, is everyone ready? Here, I’ll open the Theater.” The electronic voice came over the intercom again, and the bolts in front of the gilded door came undone. The door suddenly swung open, almost hitting Russel in the face.

The theater was pretty standard. I think-we weren’t able to see much; the entire room was absolutely dark except for a trio of spotlights shining down onto 14 red cushioned chairs facing towards the back of the room.

“He…They don’t expect us to actually sit, do they?” Sophia’s concern fell on deaf ears as we all made our way towards the chairs. When she realized that we didn’t care, she made a very unpleasant noise and joined the rest of the crowd.

We found that the top of the chairs had small golden labels, engraved with our names. As we found our seats, the voice crackled to life again.

“Is everyone settled? Wonderful! I’ll be out shortly.”

The spotlights above our heads shut off, and a series of lights in front of us slowly brightening, forming the outline of a stage. Another spotlight switched on, revealing a director’s chair on the stage, and a…thing sitting in it.

It was weird as hell. There was a man, a freakishly tall man kneeling over in the chair, but…he was completely black, like light simply avoided him, and the only bit of color was a long, red diamond on his chest, probably meant to be a tie or something. Shit, wait, was he actually a man? Whatever it was, it slowly raised his head, scanning the 15 teenagers in front of him.

“Wow. I’m not sure what to say,” Nothing on his face moved as he ‘spoke’, and he had a disappointed tone in his electronic, probably synthesized voice. “When they said _’15 Of The Best Students in America’_ , I expected…” It emitted a shallow laugh before continuing. “I’m…not sure what I was expecting.” The shadow sat upright in his chair, crossed his legs, and leaned his head on his hand.

“Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? I bet a lot of you are wondering where you are, who I am, what’s going on, blah blah blah. Well, I’ll answer those soon enough. Hmm, I probably should’ve rehearsed this…uh, how ‘bout this? Who here has a _burning_ question for me?”

The spotlights above came back on again, to show that almost everyone had their hand up. The shadow was visibly thinking, before pointing to someone in the crowd. “Uh, you, the little brat.”

“I’m not a-!” Nancy was shocked, before shrinking back into her chair. “Uhm, are we at Columbia National Academy?”

“Columbia National-?” The thing started laughing _hard_. “Oh no. God no,” He stood up from his chair and started pacing the stage. “Le-lemme ask you all, how many of you actually wanted to go to Columbia National?” Everyone’s hand was up. “Okay, okay, a lot of you are lying. Look, I’ll be honest, high school kinda sucks. You got bullies, tests, _standardized_ _tests,_ mean teachers, homework, cliques, the whole horrible works. Then there’s C.N.A., which is all that plus the pressure of being ‘ _America’s Best Teenage_ Whatever-The- _Fucks_!. I’m not sure how you all would survive, honestly. So I decided to take pity on the fifteen of you, and brought you all to this mansion that I _hand built_ for this hand-picked selection of C.N.A enrollees! So, heh, you’re welcome.

“Uh, now I should probably mention a couple of things. First off, you might have noticed the copious amount of-you all know what copious means, right? Uh, yeah, I installed a ton of cameras and, well, light machine guns on damn near every corner. Why? Well, I got good news and bad news. Which do you wa-well, actually, it’ll make more sense for the good news to come first, now that I think about it. Like I said, should’ve rehearsed this thing…

“Okay!” He clasped his hands together, producing a metal _clang_. A fucking robot?! “So, you’ve all heard of reality T.V., right? You get a bunch of cameras and follow around a bunch of drunk housewives, or some idiots trying to survive on a deserted island, stuff like that. The reason I installed the cameras is because I personally think watching a bunch of hormone-charged teenagers in an inescapable-oh yeah, this place is inescapable. No windows or anything like that.” As soon as he said it, several people starting talking at once, over each other, which the black thing clearly didn’t approve of.

“You’re shitting me.” I leaned forward, almost rising out of my chair. “How did we get in in the first place if it’s ‘inescapable?’ Why’s it that wa-“

“Hey, baldy, only one question at a time. To answer your first one; that’s for me to know and you to find out! Anyway, what I was trying to say, I decided to give you all your very own reality show!” It stepped aside, allowing a projector to shine down a logo against the wall behind him.

“ _Despair America'_ will show every weeknight at 6 p.m., on every channel in America!”

Edwin shook his head and shrugged. “How is that even possible?”

“Hell if I know! I don’t do the tech shit. I’m just the producer. Oh, by the way, you all can call me Mr. Producer.” It bowed a little before continuing his speech.

“So, you’re all gonna be famous! And you don’t have to worry about studying or bullying or any of that horrible shit, just working on those winning smiles of yours and not…well, alright, time for the bad news.”

‘Mr. Producer’ sat back into his chair, and coughed a bit before continuing. “Now, while I think following around a bunch of teenagers would be ratings-fucking- _gold_ , it does need a little bit…danger, doesn’t it? I mean, I can’t just bet on all of you fighting or sparking romances twenty-four-seven until the day you fuckin' die, right? So, I’m introducing a little…game…into the mix. Now, I know all of you are absolutely delighted to be in a safe, secure mansion while becoming famous little idiots, but, just a show of hands, how many of you want to leave?”

We all raised our hands as one. Mr. Producer shook his head and stood back up again, pacing, not saying anything.

“Well? Are you gonna let us leave or not?” Malcolm yelled at the shadow.

“I’m getting to it! Lemme think...alright, like I said, we’ll be having a little game for those of you who want to leave. You, uh, might want to sit down for this. All you have to do to leave this place forever is…you have to commit the _perfect murder_.”

For the first time since the Producer starting speaking, everyone was silent, I assumed that most were trying to understand if they heard it correctly. I sunk into my cushioned chair.

 _No, no, fuck this._ I was glancing around the room, confused and shocked faces surrounded me, all wanted _out_. _This isn’t happening. I need to get **out**_. I thought about bolting for the exit, I was shaking, unable to focus my mind, head cradled in my hands.  _He was lying. No, this is bullshit. This is all **bullshit**_.

 “Well, that’s one way to get a room full of teenagers to shut the _fuck_ up. And, uh, no, I’m not joking. Dead serious. If you want out of this fucking place, you’re gonna fucking have to get your hands dirty. Then you’re gonna have to prove to your peers that you didn’t do it. And then you can leave, you’ll Win The Game, and everyone else gets…puni-“

 “NO! Fuck this!” Russel’s voice boomed from somewhere to the right of me. “Listen, you shadowy little _punk_! We’re not gonna stand for this shit, so you better cut the fucking jokes and let us all go, or I’m gonna-“

“I’m warning you, beefcake!” I heard electronic whirring, and Russel continued to rant-rather, scream, at the robot.

“I will CLIMB up there and tear down that FUCKING gun and BEAT YOU TO FUCKI-“

Gunshots. Laughing. Screaming. So much fucking screaming. I curled up, squeezed my eyelids clenched my teeth, begging for it to end or for a bullet to hit me in the fucking head.

Silence. At least two people were crying, and another voice broke the silence-Russel’s adult-like tone.

“What the FUCK was that?”

“Blanks, kiddo!” More laughing. I stopped breathing for a second, before rolling up my body and sat back in my chair, still unable to believe anything. My eyes were still closed.

“Heh, I think I’m at the end of my little speech-how’s that for a grand finale? Uh, wait, I got one more thing on the little agenda here-gifts! If everyone would be so kind as to look under their seats…”

I reluctantly opened my eyes, watching everyone else slowly reach under their seats, most afraid, and pulling out a steel briefcase, about the size of a laptop, some opening them up, and after seeing it wasn’t rigged with fucking anything, I grabbed one too, and when I glanced up at the stage, I saw nothing. Mr. Producer was gone. 

Inside the laptop was a smartphone housed inside of an inch-deep hole on the left, a pair of earbuds inside a similar hole on the right, attached at the side of the impression, and a button in the middle. The top part of the case had a fairly large screen. Other students were grabbing the phone and putting on the earbuds, most refused. Nothing seemed to happen, so I reluctantly inserted the buds and pressed the button, and the screen came alive.

It was my mom. A video of my mother, sitting inside of our garage, right next to my Horzon LGR250, and in front of my skateboard rack. She was happy, in her usual hoodie and jeans. She looked straight ahead, before closing her eyes and smiling.

“Hi, Jack! Columbia National is asking me to record this video, I think for a commercial spot or a promotional thing or _something_. Uh, anyway, I just want to wish you luck, and I can’t wait to come visit you whenever I can!” Her smile disappeared for a couple of seconds, before returning. “I mean, it’s kind of hard, for you to live across the country, but I’ll probably get around to renting an apartment or something over in D.C. with the money we put away…” Slowly, as she was talking, she was starting to…glitch. She flickered in and out of the frame. Some of my boards were disappearing, to, and my bike was getting more trashed. As soon as I noticed I started saying “No!” out loud, gripping the screen, trying to reverse the process fucking _somehow_. Mom didn’t notice, and kept talking. “I hope you’ll start making friends! You’ve always been good at that, and I’m sure they’ll like your tricks and stuff! Uh…I guess that’s a minute. I’ll check as soon as I run out of things to…”

She was gone. All of my boards were gone, and my bike was gone too, but _my mom was gone_. The garage was torn up, there was the sound of wind blowing, and my grip on the screen was getting tighter, harder, small cracks were appearing on the edges. There were words slowly appearing on the screen, but my eyes were beginning to water up, and I wasn’t able to read some, fuck, _any_ of it.

The screen was completely cracked after the last item came up on the screen, showing only grey marks and deep webs. I was almost crying, and I let the screen go, letting it fall to the floor along with the phone thing. My head was in my hands, hunched over, unable to control my eyes watering and my desperate-sounding gasps for air. I could hear people getting up and leaving, at least one other person sobbing. I felt a grip on my wrist, and I recoiled away, looking upwards, saw the warm and, currently, unwelcome face of Dianna.

“Hey, are you okay? If you want, I can get you som-“

 I stared at her for the longest goddamned time, before I muttered something not quite unlike a "Fuck **off**."

She looked at me, confused and, maybe, afraid, and left.

I don’t know how long I spent in that theater. It felt like an hour but was more like fifteen minutes, probably. Finally, I felt done-I had no more tears, but I still felt complete and total…fuck, I just didn’t want to be alive anymore. I searched around for that phone thing on the floor, amongst the shattered screen parts, and, after finding it mostly intact, I left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main reason why this fic is MonoKuma-Less is because, despite cosplaying it and being it in a panel once, I am really unable to write a convincing MonoKuma, or at least I was unable to adhere to how the original MonoKuma sounds and reads. So I made a new Mastermind up.  
> I tried to make Mr. Producer sound more 'human' than MonoKuma. More like the main villain in a thriller, rather than a cartoon character. Anyway, I'd love to hear feedback about how he reads and such soon so I know what to change about him the next time he shows up!  
> Also, the font I used for the logo is Digital Anarchy ( http://www.dafont.com/digital-anarchy.font ).


	5. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns even more rules and ends the day on a low note.

The hallways were empty, both floors. After a long while of aimless wandering and still wiping some tears from my cheeks, I finally found the rest of the house in the dining room, sitting around the table. When I entered the room, all eyes looked on me, and I gave a glance back at them. Most had regained their composure, or at least were pretending to.

“Hi.” That didn't come off as nearly calm and composed as I had hoped for, shit. Nobody seemed to care, though. Malcolm gave me a wave to come over, in the seat right next to him. I hoped they would start talking as I walked over to the chair. They didn't, since they were all too busy either watching each other, scared, or trying to avoid eye contact. Nancy then decided to do the wrong thing and break the silence, glancing up at the camera hanging above the fireplace.

“Do…do you guys think anyone’s watching us?”

Caroline leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes sagely, and leaned her fingers against one another. “It’s entirely possible that the cameras are fake, and this little…show idea is just a ploy, to get us to…well…” Her voice cracked a little bit, and she looked away from everyone else.

Franklin, surprisingly, voiced up. The first time I heard him speak. “Someone has to be watching. There’s rules, and it says we’ll get punished if we break them.”

“What? There’s rules other than ‘kill or be killed’?” Sarah’s creaking voice made it clear that she wasn't taking this well, probably worse than me.

“Nobody’s killing _anyone._ Don’t worry, somebody has got to know we’re missing by now. We’ll probably get rescued in, like, two days,” Malcolm flashed the smartphone we got. “ANYway, look, there’s a list of rules on this thing. The menu calls it a ‘house I.D.’. Apparently it’ll let us into our rooms at night, and it has a map, list of people here, a “log” and a lot of grayed out options…I dunno, I think it’s worth a read.”

I pulled out the I.D. and instinctively pushed a button on the side. The screen lit up, showing a short animation of that Producer guy’s red tie being cut out of a rectangle, before showing a fancy blue menu against a cool grey background, with several geometric designs slowly scrolling behind it. At the top was a battery icon – currently at 100%, and a digital clock, showing 7:09 pm. Shit, that late? The only options were “House Rules and Regulations” at the top, followed by “House Map”, “House List” and “Log.” I hit “Log”, out of curiosity. It was a list, with only two items: “3 P.M., W1D1: Players (us?) arrive at house.” and “6 P.M., W1D1: Players learn of rules.”

“Alright, so should we just go through these together?” Rebecca tapped her smartphone/”House I.D.”, and her question was answered was a resounding “Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll start,” She briefly cleared her throat before continuing. _“Players are allowed to explore The Mansion at their leisure, but must remain in The Mansion for… the rest of their lives’._ _”_ Rebecca elbowed the person to her right, J.J., who jumped to life and fumbled around her pockets for her I.D., turned it on, and tapped the screen.

“Uh…alright. _‘Nighttime is from 10 pm to 7 am. The dining room_ …here, I reckon, _and the storage room will be locked from this time…_ ” She paused, looking weirdly at the I.D.. “ _WARNING! These doors will be protected by an electric shock while they are locked!_ ”

Edwin was leaning back in his chair, I.D. held loosely in his hand. “How strong are we talkin’? Does it say?”

“Lethal. Probably.” Sarah was apparently still cynical. Understandable, I guess. She was leaning over, head held in one of her hands, avoiding eye contact. Her guitar was leaning on the wall behind her.

“Uh, okay…I guess it’s my turn now?” Weston was surprisingly bubbly, like the news just didn't faze him at all. “ _This is a family friendly show, so any indecency or inappropriate conduct stronger than swearing will be Punished,_ ” He laughed, somehow, and added, “Well, you all seem like wonderful people, I don’t see how this could be a problem at all!”

“Ok…uh, let’s see here…” Sophia scrolled down a little, before continuing. _“Violence against any cameras or Mr. Producer will not be tolerated, and will be Punished.”_

Russel mumbled something under his breath. His hands were balled up in fists, and his eyes were closed tight, sending off a feeling of “fuck this, fuck you”.

Sophia tapped Samson on the shoulder, who smiled and said something like “Just waiting for you to finish,” He cleared his throat, and spoke with a fatherly voice. “ _Anyone who…who murders another housemate without being caught will Win The Game._ So it isn't just murdering someone, you gotta make sure you don’t get…well, that should…uh…” Samson tried to say something reassuring, but just sighed and shook his head.

“All right, last one,” Dianna smiled and sighed a little bit, making it obvious that she was trying her fucking hardest not to break down. _“Any new rules can and will be added at the Producer’s discretion._ I don’t know what they’ll add, but…” She sighed again and shrugged.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Most of us were avoiding eye contact, or at least I was. We were slowly coming to terms with the fact that we had absolutely no idea what was going on or what the fuck was going to happen next.

It was during this terrible, almost still moment that I realized something - over the past several summers, almost a quarter of my life, whenever I've done any of my stunts, or shows, or whatever the fuck I did to get that damn title, there were precautions, medical staff, a million and fucking one different fail-safes and ways to prevent anything, absolutely anything from going wrong, to make sure I didn't get hurt, and I knew  _exactly_ what was going to happen most of the time.

I had NO fucking _anything_ here, I wasn’t able to predict anything, I couldn’t protect myself from anything, I couldn’t fucking change _anything_. I was completely and fucking utterly at the mercy of the fourteen unpredictable, most likely dangerous strangers seated around me, some now trying to talk to each other about fucking whatever, and I had absolutely no chance to stop it.

For the first time in a long time, America’s Best Teenage Daredevil was in actual fucking danger.

Everyone else’s attempt at conversations were muted as I sat there in silence, until Malcolm spoke up, trying to address us all, including, against my best wishes, me.

“Well, we have 3 or so hours until they lock us out of the dining room,” He smiled weakly, standing a little bit out of his seat. “I think we should go in that T.V. room and try to pass the time until the ‘Night Time’ thing.”

Half of the ‘house’ agreed in some manner, half of it disagreed in some manner, and I stayed quiet, still unsure of my entire situation and still absolutely scared, not that I’d admit it.

“Well, eh…” J.J. rubbed her back sheepishly. “I was actually thinkin’ ‘bout just going to bed. I mean, normally I’d join you in a heartbeat, but…long day, y’know?”

“Uh…” Oh shit, did I say that? Listen, man, just think what’s on your mind and for the _love_ of _God_ do _not_ fuck this up. “Yeah, same here.”

Nailed it.

A couple more people agreed, and there was a divide between the house – those who wanted to watch movies or whatever and those who wanted to get the fuck to bed. We settled the matter by just getting up and saying goodnight to everyone, which I didn’t.

The walk to my room on the second floor was probably the longest walk I've ever done in my life, and the fact that I was being watched by those damn cameras didn't help at all. The rest of the people who chose to retire to their rooms for the maybe-evening stayed silent the entire trip, thank God.

I found myself in front of myself, or, rather, the decently sized, way too detailed portrait of my bony as hell face on the wooden door to what I could only guess was my room, and I sighed a little bit before opening the door, which didn't.

Shit, what now? Oh…right, the I.D. thing. Christ, I can be an idiot sometimes. I looked at the lock, a box with a slit on the front, like the kind at a hotel, except that the normally card-sized opening was the size of a smartphone, and worked it, before a green light came on and there was an electric whirring, and the door subtly opened a bit. I checked around my shoulders to see if anyone was watching, for whatever reason – I was the only person in that part of the hall. Good, I guess.

My room was white. Absolutely white. I literally thought I was going blind when I stepped into it. Wait…no…it’s more of a dull grey, with harsh white lighting that reflected off of a few things…alright, I guess? Fuck, I better get used to it.

I wandered into the dorm a little bit, trying to get a bearing on it. To my left was a set of dressers, both light grey-painted shiny wood, with a few pictures on them and a mirror in between, with some note on it. My first thought was to read the note, but what the fuck were in the picture frames? More black shit? I picked up the one closest to me…it was a photo of me. Not suprising, I guess, there’s a thousand of them floating on the internet, but…it also had my mom, when the two of us went on vacation to some state park in Utah, and she decided to take a picture of the two of us with mountains and streams and the sunset behind us, and we were both smiling wide.

As far as I knew, this picture wasn't published fucking _anywhere_ , except for maybe some kind of social media site that I didn't know about, but other than that, the only way someone could get a hold of it was my house in Ranchos de -

That picture was soon thrown against the fucking wall, along with every other fucking picture frame I could find on those damn dressers, and I spent the next few minutes crushing that god damned pile with my foot until - 

Wait, Jesus, did I actually do that? What the _FUCK_ was that? Why the hell did I just flip the fuck out? Jesus fucking Christ, dude, calm the fuck down…

_D e e p  b r e a t h s_

Okay, where the fuck was I? investigating this room, whatever. Fuck it. Mirror? Sure, why not. It was a single, tall sheet of glass, paneless, with a single piece of paper with some words and that damn red tie icon taped onto the surface.

> “This is a top of the line CONFESSION MIRROR! It’s equipped with a hi-definition camera-microphone combo that’ll capture everything done in this room, along with pretty much anything you say into it. Oh, and it’s also considered a camera (duh), so the House Rules apply to it.”

Hey, as long as I’m destroying shit…wait, no, I don’t want to get glass into my fist. Plus, that last sentence…fuck, whatever. I tore off the note, crumpled it up, and threw it onto the photo pile.

Alright, what the fuck else is in this room? Aside from the pile of broken glass…wait, there’s a door on the wall next to the pile. How the fuck did I not notice that? It was the same material as the dressers, apparently made out of the same wood as the dressers. I carefully avoided stepping into the broken glass that I should probably pick up at some point (eh), and walked through the door, finding a simple, white walled and floored bathroom, with a shower at the far end, with a toilet next to it, and a simple sink on the wall across from that, with a towel rack (with towel) attached to the front. Everything was made out of stainless steel, sharp and angular, and probably state-of-the-art, and I didn't care enough to find out.

I exited the small bathroom, again walking around the painful (figuratively and probably literally) reminder of my little episode, and looked out into the room. The only things of note was the white bed, surrounded by two nightstands, with some shit that I didn't care about on it, and a duffel bag to the right of the bed, which immediately captured my attention, given that it was the exact color and shape of the one I usually use for luggage, but…couldn't be mine, right?

No, shit, on closer inspection…my name was stitched onto a flat side of it. JACK GUERRERO, in white lettering, the same exact font I used on mine…probably was mine. It was empty.

Okay, fuck it, what’s on the bed? There was another note, printed the same way as the one in the mirror, and a box.

> “Welcome to Despair America! When I first came up with this show, I originally thought of it as a ‘boys vs. girls’ thing, but I thought that would be less interesting than a free-for-all, but I had some ideas that I didn't want to get rid of…so I’ve given you all gender-specific gifts! For guys, you get a rugged, manly pocket knife, while girls get a heavy-duty, industrial-strength frying pan! Use your damn imagination as to how to use them.
> 
> “Also: water gets shut off from 11 pm to 6 am, and the girl’s bathrooms come equipped with a lock. You know how American boys are! In addition, I've also gone through the trouble of putting all of your luggage around your room for you. You’re welcome!
> 
> “I hope we have a productive and entertaining season!
> 
> “-Mr. Producer.”

That also got crumpled up and thrown by the pile of fucked-up-shit, and I opened the box, finding, of course, a fucking gigantic pocket knife, with a flip out blade and an ivory grip. That was almost thrown onto the pile, before I realized that _hey, this might actually come in fucking handy_ , so it was placed on the nightstand, along with my ID, and I started preparing for bed. First step was removing my shirt and the dress pants I still had on, and I was about to throw them on the floor before I noticed a hamper hiding in a corner, tossed them in, missed, said ‘fuck it’ and opened one of the dressers in search of any sort of pajamas. I wasn't surprised to find the six or so pairs of PJs I had brought along with the rest of my clothes inside, and I grabbed a pair of simple black fleece pants from the top, those went on, the lights went off, and I finally collapsed onto the bed.

Of course, sleep didn't come that easy. I lied on my bed for a long while, waiting to eventually pass out or something along those lines.

I kept thinking different questions to myself.  _What's going on? Who's going to die first? Would I be the first to crack?_   _Who would be the first to loose their minds? Why can't I calm down? Is this a dream? Why is everyone so calm? Why can't I be like them?_ My eyes remained open and my teeth tightly closed as I raced through possibilities, but something amazing happened; by the time I asked myself _Why can't I sleep?_ , I realized that I actually had an answer to that. 

In my mind, the words of my mother sort of eased out, half-formed memories became clear and vivid, and I sat there motionless as everything played out in my mind.

 

I’m nine, curled up in my bed in my room while it was still painted baby blue instead of dark grey, with toys scattered around, the ones of cars or motorcycles clustered in a small pile in the corner, and a mobile of glow-in-the-dark stars and planets slowly spinning in the dry air coming from the open window. I can remember that it was the night before a root canal. I wasn't able to close my eyes or think about anything else other than how much it’d fucking hurt.

There’s a knock at the door, and it opens before I’m able to invite the person in. Of course, it’s my mother, Maxine, the only other person in my house, dressed in a green T-shirt and sweatpants, hands behind her back, smiling. “Can’t sleep, huh?”

I nod and mutter kind of like a “Yeah.”

“Alright, lemme show you something,” She walks over to my bed, somehow avoiding the spiky and plastic-y toys that littered the hardwood floor in the half-darkness, and sat on the floor, next to me in my bed, grabbing my hand and moving the fingers, curling up all the fingers and pulling out my thumb. “Put this over your left nose-hole…” Instead of letting me do it, she does the incredibly complicated task for me. “And breathe deep sixty times, okay?”

I do as I’m told, and to my surprise, (well, not really, since moms are supposed to know this stuff), all the pain, fear, everything disappeared every time I breathed in and out, and by the time I was done, I felt like nothing else mattered but getting to sleep. My mom leaned over, smiling, and asked “Better?” I nodded, and she kissed me on the forehead. “That’s something my mom taught me. Just do it whenever you feel to stressed to sleep, ‘K?”

I nodded, feeling tired and, well, relieved. She kissed my on my forehead, tucked me in, and left, closing the door as soft as possible, and I fell asleep five minutes later. The root canal the next morning didn't hurt at all.

 

 _It should still, work, right?_ I asked myself as I placed my thumb over my left nostril and started counting my breaths. By 10, I stopped asking questions, twenty breaths later I was sinking into my bed, and by fifty I closed my eyes, and I was finally able to sleep before I got to sixty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the first part! We a little while to go until the first murder, so just wait a little longer (I know I am!) I'm thinking I'll start posting multiple chapters a week until we get there, just to speed things up.  
> Next week you'll get to choose who Jack spends free time with. There will be two winners, but I'll upload the rest to a Pastebin in the chapter notes after they're done so people don't get let down.


	6. We Now Return To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack starts a new day.

Static.

When I awoke, all I could hear was damn static. Coming from somewhere, probably some sort of P.A. system wired into all of our rooms, because we can’t have anything good here. The static quickly formed into the electronic voice of Mr. Producer.

“Haha, good morning, you bastards! Welcome to the morning of Day 2. Oh, uh, Night Time’s now over. Well, let’s make it a _great_ day for our viewers at home!”

Before I could roll over, not caring, the lights quickly clicked on, and I suddenly hated everything a lot more.

I let out some sort of terrible, groaning noise and rolled my back upright, over my legs, running my head through my not-hair, breathing slowly.  Somehow, I got enough strength to get out of the bed, dress up in a new shirt and my jacket, along with a nice pair of black, somewhat ripped jeans, placed my new best friend the pocket knife into my pocket, along with my I.D., and crept out the door.

Almost everyone was outside in the hallway, aside from a few people who were either downstairs already or had the right idea and slept through the announcement.

“He- _ey_!” Dianna’s voice came from the right of me. Our rooms were right next to each other, right?  Fuck me. “Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Terrible.”

“Uh, okay,” Her voice died down a little bit from its natural state of ‘mind-numbingly peppy’ and I calmed down a bit. She was already dressed, in a more casual pair of jeans and a white blouse, with her bag still resting on her shoulder. “Hey, we should grab breakfast!”

“Huh?  Breakfast…?” Edwin, leaning on his door for dear life, groaned, and slowly blinked his glasses-less eyes, wearing a black set of pajamas. “There’s…what?”

“Well…uh, I mean…there’s apples and things, and a few eggs! So like a hotel buffet!” Her voice went up to full blast again. I sighed, said okay, and she reached for my hand again. I recoiled it away, and she seemed to get the message. I wasn’t able to see if she pouted or not.

We walked silently together through the hallway and down the stairs, down another hallway and entered the dining room, the first ones to arrive, though some others slowly came in. We sort of split up after that, walking around the dining table in separate ways, before joining back again in front of the door to the kitchen.

Inside, nothing changed, though I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to change in the first place. “Hey, do you know how to make eggs?” Dianna asked me from the inside of the refrigerator closest to the door.

“No, do you?”

“Yeah! Want me to make you some? They’re pretty _egg-celent!_ ”

“Uh…” On one hand, free, good breakfast. On the other hand, Dianna. Jesus _fucking_   Christ, that pun. “I’m good.” I quickly open the door to the other fridge by her, grab the first edible thing I see-a bright red apple, and start to wonder if this girl had some sort of feelings for me, and start yelling at myself in my head for not picking it up fucking sooner. Just as more people enter the kitchen in search of breakfast, I left.

The only other people in the dining room were Russell, wearing a thin red shirt and loose jeans cut below the knee, Sarah, who had only her hoodie and black pants and not the million fucking layers and beanie she wore yesterday, Caroline in a long-sleeved purple sweater and long skirt, and Edwin, who was currently collapsed down in his chair, unconscious. I sat in the chair I was in last night and stared at the apple in my hand, wondering how exactly to start eating. It was one of those mornings.

While everyone else was gathering in the dining room, my mind sort of wandered onto the topic of ‘Dianna’. Was she really, well, into me? Why? I dunno, am I attractive? I’m almost fucking bald, my face is way too thin and my cheekbones and shit kinda protruded out…I don’t exactly have a winning personality, either, or so I was told to my face by a guy at the Triple Gold Games who was a fan of Daryl ‘Six’ Pines, though the exact words he used was ‘Fucking teen full-of-himself asshole with the personality of a god damned fish’. Why the hell did Dianna take a liking to me instead of, say, Gordon, who is from fucking Hawaii instead of the god damned desert and so fucking smar-

“Jack…” Some female voice was talking to me but I didn’t care. “You gonna eat that?” It was J.J., dressed in that red plaid shirt she had around her waist yesterday and a _fucking cowboy hat_.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I handed it to her, staring at that god damned hat, trying to do everything in my power not to laugh my ass off.

J.J. smiled a bit, noticing my gaze. “Heh, you like it?” She took it off her head and placed it off mine, without my consent. “Hand-made by some folks down in Big Wyomin’. Real cow leather…”

With the mention of  ‘leather’, I instinctively looked over to see if Sophia was in the room. She was, dressed in a tan hoodie, open, with a black tank top underneath. She was looking at me with curiosity, and then rolled her eyes.

“Cost me a tiny fortune, y’know!  Veritable king’s ransom.”

“Hey, you look good!” Dianna’s voice comes from behind me, and she sits in the chair next to mine with a plate of scrambled eggs in her hand. “Here, we can share.”

“Thanks…” To tell the truth, not that much interested in eating, but whatever, free food. I handed the hat back to J.J. , but before I could take a bite of the fucking _egg-celent_ eggs, I was interrupted by someone.

“Alright, good, so everyone’s here,” Samson smiled at us all, suddenly standing up, dressed in a light grey long-sleeved shirt, black suspenders and darker grey pants. His comment prompted me to glance around – everyone was here, all dressed except for Edwin, who was still sleeping in his pajamas, and was suddenly jostled awake by someone else. He was not pleased. “Well, I came up with some additional rules to help us keep, well, order here until rescue comes along.”

 _Rescue_. Now there’s a thought that hasn’t crossed my mind, but before I could dwell on it longer, Sarah spoke up.

“You’re kidding me, right? First this fucking shit, now you want to-“

Rebecca smiled, kinda, and turned towards the folk singer. She was wearing some light grey vest with buttons on the front, and a white shirt underneath. “Hey, maybe we should give this a listen.”

“No no no no NO, fuck that. I’m not sitting around, listening to some fucking _hick_ tell me how to liv-“

Rebecca rocketed up, her face suddenly fucking _furious_ , and slammed her hands on the table, making everyone (or, at least me) jump. “Listen, you sit the f-“ Catching herself, she began speaking in the sort of stilted anger-speech that only my teachers used. “SIT DOWN  and APOLOGIZE. **NOW.** ”

Rebecca did as she was fucking told, muttered an apology, and sat completely still.

“Uh…yes, anyway.” Samson continued, a little bit unnerved. “Well, I think we have only a few days until we’re rescued, so here’s what we should do; meet here every morning as soon as we wake up for breakfast, and at five for dinner. Maybe around noon we can have a sort of lunch thing, but I think that should be optional…does that sound good?”

“Fo _o_ …what about food?” Edwin managed to slur out.

“Oh, I spent a _lot_ of time in the storage room yesterday,” Westin said, completely calm. He had on a faintly yellow long-sleeved v-neck that probably cost more than some of my bikes, and, from what I could tell, skinny jeans. “There’s several different varieties of non-perishable food…granola bars,  candy, soda, water, energy drinks…” There was a little giggle to himself. “Even Meals-Ready-to-Eat! You can raid there if you ‘d like, I think it gets restocked each night.”

“That, and, uh, I wouldn’t mind makin’ stuff for people…” Samson smiled, laughing sheepishly. “Not everyone, I mean, that’d take too long, but-“

Nancy piped up. “I could help! I know how t’ make, uh, camp food.”

“Well then! I guess we have two kitchenhands now,” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Well, those are all my ideas. Does that sound good?”

Everyone agreed, including me. I dunno, it seemed like a good idea. I didn’t think it’d last long, but why not?

“Alright, so…” Malcolm tossed a peeled orange up and down in his hands. “Who here, uh, knows how long the government would-“

“The Columbia National Academy division of the Board of Education has definitely noticed our disappearance,” Franklin began, rattling off words like nothing. “You all came here after being in an elevator, right?”

Russell started agreeing. “Yeah, something happened. I felt really hot, sweltering kinda, than my mind blanked, and I think I passed out. It might’ve been a chemical or a gas or…something.”

I shared my experience. “I hit the button for ‘Lobby’ and it came up as ‘Basement’ before that happened.”

Everyone else agreed.

Franklin nodded. “Whatever happened, it’s certainly not normal. It might even be an act of terrorism. That might mean the Department of Homeland Security is involved. Of course, they’ve already issued a press conference of some sort. The President has definitely been addressed by now, and he’s probably currently organizing a mass search of the Columbia campus, and Washington D.C…There might be a lockdown of the city, and…” He started muttering to himself, something I couldn’t quite hear, before smiling way to damn wide and saying. “Heh…face it, we’re famous.”

“That means…” Malcom’s eyes were practically sparkling behind his glasses. “Hey, we’ll be rescued soon, right?”

 _Rescue_. There was that damn word again. But it was a good thing, right? I mean, we’re probably not that far from D.C., but…no. Franklin said _terrorism_. That means, like, a group? Would a group of fucking _terrorists_ be as stupid as to put this place in D.C., or even Virginia? And they’d be skilled enough to take care of us without anyone knowing, if they wanted to pull something like this off. The government probably had no idea who we were, or why we were missing or…

Jesus, are we…are we fucked?

 _Fuck,_ no, I’m shaking. Dude, calm the hell down, deep breaths, and oh my god don’t let anyone know…

Before I realized it my head was cradled in my hands, and everyone stopped talking about fucking rescue for a minute to stare at me. I could feel someone to the right of me touch my back…Dianna. Of course it was Dianna. “Jack, are you-“

I stood straight up. “H-headache. I’m gonna…gonna go grab some aspirin, alright?”

That was a lie. I exited the dining room and walked straight to my dorm, closed the door, and collapsed on the bed.

There’s no fucking use _. I was fucked_. I’m going to die in here I’m going to die in here I’m going to fucking _die in here I…_

_I don’t have to die in here._

_“_ _All you have to do to leave this place forever is…you have to commit the perfect murder.”_

Mr. Producer’s electronic words echoed in my head for the longest time. I was…holy shit. I was more muscular than the average person. I was more agile than most other people in here, hell, I can fucking _nail_ any BMX trick…I probably wasn’t smarter than the rest, but…I dunno, if I could convince people that I didn’t do it, that I _couldn’t_ do it…

I sat against the wall on my bed, taking out the pocket knife and flipping it in and out, inspecting it, watching it snap closed and slide open. If I was able to get people on my side, friends who’d say _oh Jack’s too nice to do that kind of thing_ …

I started thinking about who could be useful, who might be a good friend, all while flipping out and in the knife, twirling the point of the blade against my fingertip just enough so that it didn’t break skin.

There was…

  * **Dianna** ¸ the journalist who was probably in love with me. Shouldn’t be hard to earn her trust…
  * **J.J.** , a New Englander who thinks she’s a cowgirl. Could be fun to talk to for an hour, I guessed. Seems pretty easy to get on her good side.
  * **Franklin** ¸ someone who I still didn’t know a single fucking thing about, other than that he made movies and was concerned about the government.
  * **Russell** , the quarterback who’s stronger than three of me, and I don’t think anyone would want to get on his bad side.
  * **Caroline** , who might be some sort of profiling genius, and could probably help convince people that I was sane enough not to kill someone.
  * **Nancy** ¸ a scout who could probably teach me a thing or two about first aid or, I dunno, _plants_.
  * **Gordon** , who might let some of his knowledge about, like, cutting shit up slip.
  * **Malcom** ¸ who could probably hack my I.D. or something, but at least he was a good speaker, from his background of motivational stuff.
  * **Sophia,** an apparently opinionated activist who could probably use some of that experience of protesting to good use.
  * **Edwin** , kind of an asshole, but smart, and probably good at strategy and the like.
  * **Sarah** , the folk musician who I did kind of want to hang out with, if only because she’s taking the whole thing badly.
  * **Rebecca** , a philanthropist who, apparently, had a harsh side, which she’d probably use if anyone tried to accuse her best friend Jack of murder…
  * **Westin** , who might share some of his tips to staying positive and, I don’t know, healthy eating and proper muscle toning.
  * **Samson** , who probably thinks highly of me (and everyone else) already, and he’s already a pretty nice person.



All in all, I had a pretty good selection of people, or accomplices or whatever to pick from. I just needed to find out which ones to choose, which ones to hang out with…then everything will fall into place, right?

God , I hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the part I was referencing. If you feel so inclined, you can post who you want Jack to spend his free time with, out of the 14 other people in the mansion. You can suggest a maximum of two others, and I'd appreciate it if you gave a question you'd like Jack to ask the person, though that's optional. If I don't get a majority vote, then I'll continue with the story. All Free Times for the remaining housemates will be posted in a Pastebin next week.  
> According to my current update schedule, we only got 2-3 weeks until first blood! You guys excited? I know I am!


	7. Free Time: Dianna Chubbuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack spends time with Dianna

Dianna caught me as I was leaving my room, surprisingly jubilant, given our situation.

“Hey there! How’s my favorite Daredevil doing today?“

“Alright, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear! Making any good friends?”

I shrugged. “None yet. I’m not sure if I want to get attached to any of these guys, y’know?”

“That’s…not the right type of attitude to have,” The journalist grimaced at my response before lighting up again. “Well, why don’t we talk for a while?”

I tried to say ‘no’, but I had literally nothing else better to do, so I sighed and let Dianna drag me to the TV room, where we sat at opposite ends of the couch.

“So, uh…” Dianna drummed her fingers on the couch’s arm. “Well…is it okay if I tell you about myself?”

I shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I was born in Connecticut 16 years-or 17, if you count my yearless years-ago, and for the past 5 years I’ve been a writer for the my town’s newspaper, The Crier. I live with my family and I enjoy writing, playing with my dogs, and…I don’t know, I guess I’m just an American girl?” She smiled sheepishly.

I nodded, trying to think of something to say to continue to the conversation. “What do you cover?”

“I’m all over, but I usually try and do assignments that are feel-good. Like school bake sales, or found children, or charities! I can’t stand stories about death, though. You know, accidents and all that? Just makes me depressed.” Hardly hard-hitting journalism, I guessed.

“So is that why you’re hoping we’re freed before someone snaps?”

“That’s…one way to put it.” She leaned back into the couch cushions. “I just…trust everyone here, and I honestly don’t believe that anyone in this mansion could commit…y’know, murder.”

I really had a hard time believing what she just said. “You trust a group of complete strangers, who might be psychopathic, not to kill anyone, in this kinda situation?”

Dianna sighed. “I just don’t think that teenagers could do anything like that, alright?”

I was unsure if I wanted to add anything. Dianna already looked like she was regretting her decision to spend time with me.

“Well, uh, sorry for being so…” I really wanted to say ‘realistic’, but she might respond with a punch to my smug face. “Pessimistic.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” She played with her fingers a bit. “You have hobbies, right?”

“Riding bikes, skateboards, stuff like that.” I tried to think of something interesting…”I, uh, I fix up cars with my mom sometimes. Usually at her shop, not like we buy them and fix them up and sell them…I just work there sometimes.”

“That’s pretty neat!” She leaned back and smiled. “Y’know, that’d make a pretty awesome feature. Something like ‘ _Mother and son working together to better their community…_ ”

She kept talking, but I kinda tuned out at the mention of my mom. I didn’t know why I even brought it up, her talking about it just ended up making me depressed.

“Oh, uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“I…” Shit, man, don’t get attached to her. She’s too nice for her own good, she’ll probably be the first to…whatever, just come up with something….”Hey, why do you like making puns, anyway?”

“Because they’re fun! And, uh, I guess it comes with the title…” She paused, thinking of something. “Like, when a local dog was in a dog show, the headline I ran with when the story broke was _“Dewey Gives Competition Paws’,_ and when he won I wrote up _‘Dewey Defeats, True, Man!’_ ,” She giggled both times, and I groaned both times. “I think it’s kind of my trademark, like your coffin thingy!” She pointed to the back of my jacket, which was still hidden by the couch.

Yeah, well the coffin with wings was way more hardcore than fucking _puns_. “I guess that’s nice.”

We sat there for a while after I accidentally killed the conversation, before she popped into my head again. “Hey, if you want, we can, uh, I dunno, watch a movie or just talk some more?” Her voice sounded too hopeful for my tastes.

“Uh, actually, I was planning to…talk to more people.”

“Oh, okay!” She didn’t sound hurt in the slightest, which was good, I guessed. “I’ll see you soon, then!”

We waved goodbye to eachother, and before I knew it, I was out and back in the hallway, ready to find whoever else I wanted to talk to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm publishing 3 chapters this time around, two free times and one story chapter, to speed things up. Next week I'll do the same, with two story chapters and 1-2 bonus chapters, with the first major plot event starting the week after that! I hope you all are excited!  
> Here's the link to the rest of the Free Times I have written up: http://pastebin.com/sQifTmBn . I tried to keep it open whether or not these are canon (which does sound weird since this whole thing is un-canon), but the best way to think of it is that the ones voted on (Dianna and Caroline) are the ones going to be referred to throughout the rest of the fic while the rest are just kind of there and may or may not have happened.  
> Keep tuned for the next chapter to be uploaded right after this one!


	8. Explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rules are further explained through threats.

I managed to eventually find myself in the main hallways, first floor, just in time for that god damned P.A. system to fill the air with that synthesized voice of Mr. Producer.

“He _llo_ , kiddos! I’d like all of you to report to the Theater, A-S-A-fuckin’-P. I need to clarify some things with you all.”

Fucking great. Well, at least I was already here, I guess. I wandered over to the gilded red door of the theater, and within five minutes, everyone else was huddled around it, all expressing displeasure, which I joined in by saying “Who the fuck does this asshole think he is, anyway?” I didn’t really care to check if anyone heard me.

Eventually, that damn voice came online again. “Al _right_ , come on in!” The door swung upon, almost hitting Russell in the face, who swore a lot and punched the side of the door on his way into the theater.

The interior of the theater was exactly the same as last time, though this time there was already a spotlight on Mr. Producer’s form, sitting in his director’s chair. “Hey all, come on down! We got a lot to discuss!”

We reluctantly sat in our respective seats from last time, and Mr. Producer leaned forward in his chair, and I noticed he had some sort of remote in his hands  - a regular TV remote, from the looks of it. Fitting. “Well, to start us off, the reason I’m even _having_ this little meeting is because _some_ of us won’t keep their fucking mouths shut and stay in their fucking seats, so…” He clicked a button on his remote without looking and I felt something cold and hard over my wrists. I glanced down, saw two large cuffs clamped down on top of my arms, and tried my hardest not to freak out, asking myself _what the fuck is he doing?_  and having a million and one different answers cross my mind.

“Well, onto business. I figured I should probably explain what’s going on. You all probably know that you’re contestants on a game show. The goal of the game is leaving this mansion, and to do that you have to literally kill for it – commit the perfect murder. But you might ask yourself – and no questions right now – how is this going to go down? How are we going to decide who the killer is? How can _you_ get away with it?

“Well, let’s say that I killed one of you right now.” Right on fucking cue, a goddamned machine gun whirled down from the ceiling, and _holy shit was he actually going to do it?!_ Some sort of laser thing came from his remote, and oh my god he was _serious_. _He was fucking serious._ At that point I closed my fucking eyes. Some people screamed. “Fuck, everyone just shut up! Jesus. Any-fucking-way, let’s say that I just decided to kill one of you with this handy gun right here. Just because. And, uh, I should warn ya, I got an itchy trigger finger. Anyway, what would happen next is we’d have an Investigation Period. Which is basically you guys going around, investigating, say…the blonde chick’s skull and saying “Yeah, she sure got shot in the face.” Then would come the Trial, where I take you all to a _secret room_ and you’d talk about how the orange haired dude got shot and who you think did it. In this case, it’d be me. After you discuss it, you choose who did it, and then we’d remove that person from the game  _permanently_  and we’d continue. If you chose the wrong person, than the _real_ killer goes free. We keep doing this until one person is left, and then it’s over. For now.

 “Alright, I think I made my point. Gun’s going away, you can all open your eyes now…cowards.”

Thank fucking _god_. I finally breathed for the first time in forever, and I sunk into my chair, or at least as much as I could sink, thanks to those fucking clamps on the arms of the seat.

“Well, I think that’s all I have. For now. By that, I mean, I’m going to call you guys back here around 6 PM. Believe it or not, our first episode’s ready, and we’re going to watch it live! I’ll see you then. Goodbye, and let me tell ya; the whole world’s gonna know your little faces!”

And with that, the spotlight suddenly clicked off, and weirdly, his red tie remained lit for a little while before dimming down. Our restraints slid back underneath the arms of the chairs, and I could hear the door behind us swing open. Nobody left.

Weston was the first to stand up, stretching and rubbing his wrists like it wasn’t a big deal, and turned his head towards us, smiling. He was fucking smiling.

“Well, friends, we have…” there was a quick glance at his I.D. “Three hours until it’s time to watch this show, and I don’t think we can just sit here moping about our situation, yes?”

Sarah slowly rose, crept close, looked Weston straight in the eyes like she was saying ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’, and walked out. Some people followed her, including Weston, who just shrugged while smiling.

I followed everyone else, behind Dianna, who, as soon as she was out, leaned against a wall, face blank, eyes sort of glazed over, looking up. She then slid down it, sat down, and just started crying, and before I could even react, Samson was already crouched down beside her, smiling, and putting his arm around her shoulders. Through sobs I could hear Dianna say, “H-he pointed…aimed a gun…right a-at _me_ – he was going to _shoot_ me right i-in the…” She then buried her face in her hands. I decided to stay back and let a guy who was probably more empathetic than me handle it.

I leaned against the wall next to the theater door. A lot of people had told me I’m impossible to argue with, since I’m apparently pretty ‘fierce’ and can defend a point really well, but I haven’t noticed that. That’s just how I am. Would that be a good thing? Like, I could defend myself in those ‘trials’…but there’s no way I could cover my tracks well enough for those investigation things. Should…could I…fuck, I don’t know.

I sat there contemplating my fate for a while, leaning against that wall, until I looked up and realized I was the only one left in the hallway.

 _Well, I might as well get back to socializing_ , I thought, hoisting myself out of my position and walking away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably just stuff you already know, if you're a Dangan Ronpa veteran, which is why it's one of the shortest ones so far. Not much else to say! Next Free Time (Caroline) is coming up as soon as this one is uploaded.


	9. Free Time: Caroline Fraiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack spends time with Caroline.

I thought about my options of socialization while wandering the main hall of the mansion, before coming to the conclusion that Caroline was probably my best bet. She probably had experience talking to people, or at least the mental side of them, and that might come in handy for those…House Trial things? I think that’s what they were called, anyway. While I searched the apartments for her, I managed to think of different ideas and questions I wanted to ask an educated young woman like her.

I found the psychologist in the T.V. room, alone, reading a book at one of the tables with, disturbingly, a blood-colored cover, and an open notebook and pencil beside her, full of notes. I  slid into the chair across from her, smiling maybe a bit too wide. She eventually noticed me, put her book down, and stared into my eyes, prompting me to say something.

“Hey, uh, what’s up?” I glanced over at her open notebook, which she immediately closed while looking at me, disappointed.

“I am just passing the time, _alone_ ,” She put a lot of stress on that last word for _some_ reason. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“I dunno, just wanted to ask you some stuff. About you, I guess.” That sounded way more creepy than I had intended, but by the time I noticed it, the last word had already cleared my mouth.

“That would…that would be a first, I suppose,” Caroline sat relaxed in her chair a little bit, and placed her arms on the table neutrally.“What do you want to ask? And forgive me if I have reasons for not answering your questions.”

“So, uh, what’s your opinion on this whole situation? The Game and all that?”

“It’s a mystery. I don’t know who’s behind it, why we were chosen to participate in it, why _I’m_ here…I really just don’t know. I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and I’m sorry to say I haven’t had much luck.” She placed a hand on her notebook and drummed her fingers on it.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I don’t know why you are. Do you expect me to have this whole situation figured out in less than a day?” She smiled a little bit, maybe sarcastically but I wasn’t able to tell. “That’s…quite the compliment, in its own way.”

“So, uh, what do you think of the other people here?”

She stared up at the ceiling, like she was trying to figure out what shade of white it was, before answering. “Well, Mr. Producer mentioned that we were hand-picked to participate in this Game. For the most part, it is somewhat easy to guess why everyone was selected to be on this ‘show’, for example, I _am_ America’s Best Teenage Psychologist, wouldn’t that mean I have experience talking to people and understanding their opinions, for better or for worse? It also implies that I know how to handle mental illness, and trauma…which I’m sure we’ll have our fair share of in the coming days.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She sighed. “We were deprived of something that we needed, placed in an alien environment, given Orwellian rules, and told to kill in order to escape all that? If you don’t think someone is going to murder another person soon, than you have an optimism that I wish I had. It’s simply human nature.”

“I…alright?” I was a bit off-put by her, well, realistic view on the situation. “What about the individual people, huh?”

She sighed. “I haven’t had the time to, well, interview everyone, but I do have a good idea about why everyone else was chosen. For example, you…forgive me, but you’re a hot-headed teenager whose first instinct is to run into danger,” I didn’t get _that_ angry at her description, since it was mostly accurate. I think. “Then there’s, say, Franklin, who has a very definite interest in the government, or at least as far as I know. It might just be because he’s usually, well, behind cameras, and it’d be ironic for him to be in front of one. Weston is just for the fact that he was, at one point, ‘America’s Boy Nextra Door.’ Sophia is known to get very passionate about her chosen topics, which may prove to be a catalyst. Nancy’s here just for pure shock value, I believe. Same for Malcolm, who’s mostly because he’s one of the richest young men in America. J.J. seems to ‘quirky’ for her own good. Dianna apparently has trouble dealing with trauma. Samson is too nice to survive long. Edwin has a trouble with socializing, and he’s famously secretive, so why not put him in front of cameras all day? Rebecca obviously has anger issues, or at least some form of Bipolar disorder. I really can't discern without more observation. Gordon has experience with medicine, or at least using a knife. Russell is simply strong enough to beat anyone here to death. Sarah is confrontational and seems to be asocial…if I wanted to push a group of teenagers to the brink of madness and force them to kill one another, this is the group I’d choose.” She leaned back in her chair and sighed, eyes closed, making it clear that her reasoning behind her choices took a lot of thought and even more effort to express, and I sort of regretted asking her about it and apparently making her depressed.

“Hey, uh, sorry about bringing that up.”

She waved her arm dismissively while staying in the same position. “It’s simply how I think. Just because it’s realistic thinking doesn’t mean it’s pessimistic thinking, Jack.”

“So what are you going to do to avoid a bloodbath?”

Her eyes stayed closed and her head stayed rolled backwards, but I could tell she was smiling. “Only surround myself with the _sane_ ones. Help if I have to. Otherwise? Stay completely invisible.”

“Smart.”

“I am,” She smiled bigger, smugger, more confident, and crossed her arms, and I could tell she suddenly felt relieved. “Are those all of your questions?”

I thought for a little bit, before answering. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“In that case,” Caroline extended one of her hands. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, Jack Guerrero.”

“Uh, yeah, same here.” I shook her hand (what the hell else was I supposed to do?), smiled kinda, and walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm giving you all a fucking lot to read tonight, but I really, really just want to get through all of the fluff and to the first major event of the fic. This'll only happen one more time, according to my update schedule, so sit tight and just give me another two weeks! I'm sure I'll make up for the waiting in blood and violence.


	10. Fine Dining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has his first dinner with his friends and is interrupted, as is the norm.

Somehow, I managed to find myself in the store room for some reason around 5 PM, and I was currently staring at one section of shelves that contained fucking whatever trying to remember why I had even came here in the first place.

Right. The rest of the house is having dinner at 5, and I forgot to put my order in with Samson or Nancy or whoever the fuck.  I was in here looking for something to eat. Right now I was looking at a relatively small section of shelf with different tools and hardware things on it – hammers, nails, saws, wrenches. shit like that. To my right were chemicals like bleach and laundry detergent, to my left were housewares, stuff like lightbulbs, paper towels, pillowcases. I quickly realized that, with some imagination, I could easily kill people with this fine selection. I guess that’s why they’re here.

I managed to pry myself away from the literal arsenal and looked around for something to eat, like Westin suggested this morning, and I noticed that each wall was labeled in medium-sized block lettering above the shelves that was apparently stenciled in. The one I was just looking at was _HOME,_ to my right were the washing machines flanked on either side by shelves, labeled _MISC,_ which apparently had shit like a duffel bag and a big container of rubber bands. The one to the right of that was _FIRST AID_ , with white pill bottles of different sizes, all labeled with black lettering, and only one full first aid kid, with the final wall being _FOOD_. Fucking _finally_.

The food wall was mostly boxes, all colored white, labeled in black, all having a red tie logo on them somewhere. The first thing I needed was something to drink, and retrieved the first thing I saw, a can of ‘cola’, from an already open 12-pack box. The next was actual fucking food, but the selection was mostly pre-packaged food – candy bars, granola bars, snack cakes, small bags of chips, shit that had more sugar and salt in it than anything else. Didn’t Westin say something about M.R.Es? I ended up going over that section of shelves two or three times before I found them on the very bottom; white packages the size of my head labeled with literally mouthwatering names-Salisbury steak, B.B.Q chicken sandwiches, beef stew…I mean, none of it probably tasted good, but still! I settled on spaghetti and meatballs in red sauce and, feeling proud of my selection, I made my way to the dining room.

Everyone else was there by the time I arrived, and I guessed my blanking out in the store room had something to do with it. Nobody minded that I came in late from the looks of it, though. A few people were enjoying some completely appetizing looking food, and I don’t even know where to begin describing them. They looked impossibly fancy and expensive, right down to the small portion sizes, and I suddenly felt inadequate. (Though I don’t really know what I was expecting. “Woah, look at Jack, he found the prepackaged army food!”)

“Where’d everyone ge-“

Before I could finish asking, Nancy answered, smiling wide and blazing with confidence and pride. “Me and Samson made ‘em! Do you want one?”

“No, I got…this.” I held up the white package, a bit embarrassed, especially since both people on either side of me were beginning to eat some sort of dish; Dianna had a white soup with chunks in it, and Malcolm had a fucking mess of eggs, hash browns, meat, and chili.

“Well, I can always make you somethin’.” Samson smiled, like he always fucking did. “I know every state’s regional dish…y’know, what they’re known for, I guess. Just a little hobby of mine,” He chuckled a bit. “Mind you, it probably won’t taste as good, all I got to work with is a little bit of meat, most of it’s imitation – “

“Much to my delight!” Chimed in Sophia, eating some sort of seafood stew thing. “The best food is cruelty free food!”

“Heh, sure. I mean, it probably won’t fill you guys up, but it’s a little somethin’ to remind you all of home, I guess.” Samson said, apparently a bit embarrassed.

Edwin smiled, a genuine smile, certainly a rare occurrence for all of the two days I’ve known him. “Hey, I appreciate it! Really.”

Everyone else agreed. I was currently beating myself up over being too proud to ask for food. Fuck me, right? Fuck, I could be having some chalupas right now, the good shit.

Well, at least I had this M.R.E thing. I opened up the package, finding a sheet of instructions, a bag around the size of two of my fists labeled _HEATER_ and another, smaller bag.

The instructions basically went:

  1.        Fill up heater with water. (Well, fuck me, that required getting up.)
  2.        Place food bag inside heater bag. (Simple enough.)
  3.        Lean bag against something. (It suggested a rock.  I used the toaster in the kitchen.)
  4.        Wait.
  5.        Remove food bag from heater bag.
  6.        Eat!



Surprisingly, the instructions forgot to mention that the heater bag, through some sort of witchcraft, got _really fucking hot._ I almost burned my hand on it twice, but I eventually managed to slide out the food bag, grabbed a fork, and returned to the dining room with my somehow-heated pasta .

I sat, ate, and listened to the million different conversations that bounced around me, sometimes answering if people wanted me to. It was a pretty decent way to spend an evening, I supposed. Just me, food, and people I could ignore if I wanted to. I had the feeling that we were all able to forget the Game, Mr. Producer, the show, our whole fucking situation…it felt really nice. Actually nice.

I spent around an hour just sitting there, feeling content with damn near everything.

So, of course, something had to happen to fuck that all up.

“Attention! I’d hate to break up this wonderful little scene, but I’m making good on my promise earlier today! Everyone make way to the theater! I don’t want anyone to be late to our _nation-wide premiere!_ ”

Everyone expressed displeasure in some way, shape, or form. Whoever wasn’t done with their food shoveled it into their mouths and quickly exited, with the rest of us following. I was the last to leave, looking for any scraps of food people left on their tiny plates. Of course, there was none, so I sighed and left.

We walked in a line, more or less, towards the theater door, which swung open as soon as we got near and hit nobody this time around. Everyone entered the theater, still completely dark except for lights around the stage and those spotlights on our seats, though I was pretty sure I could make out Mr. Producer’s red tie in the darkness, but it was probably just my imagination.

Everyone sat down in the same seats they sat in the last two fucking times we were here, and the spotlights shut off, with another turning on on the stage, once again showing Mr. Producer’s shadow form. He still had that TV remote in his hand, and that damn gun was behind him, barely illuminated by the light.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the world preimiere of Despair America on every channel located in the great country of the United States of America! You’re about to make history, y’know, this is gonna be the largest broadcast signal intrusion in American history, with top-of-the-line equipment and several tech monkeys working around the clock to make sure this happens at exactly 6 p.m. on every channel in America! And, no, I’m not giving you the time zone. Ah, if only Captain Midnight or Mr. Headroom  could see us now! Well, I think I’m done yammering for now. On with the show! And no sleeping, or else, well, use your imagination.”

And, with that, the spotlight turned off, his tie turned off, and the projector behind us loudly clicked on, and the wall was filled with light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing another "upload three chapters at once" thing. This'll probably be the last time it happens, according to my update schedule (free times excluded).  
> Keep watch for the next two chapters being uploaded right after this one!


	11. Despair America S1E1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pilot episode of Despair America!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip this chapter, it's mostly stuff that you've already read and the only things of note are the monologues at the beginning and end, which will get explained in the next chapter.

_(Shot of static, briefly forming into MR. PRODUCER’S red tie. Fade into a shot of MR. PRODUCER. Behind him is a control room, buzzing with activity, with different monitors of different sizes switching between static, rooms of the MANSION, and faces of the CONTESTANTS, and literally faceless (wearing a flesh-colored mask) workers moving about and operating switchboards and the like.)_

M.P.: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of America! Now, you may be wondering where whatever the fuck you were watching went, and who I am, and what’s going on…don’t worry, I’ll probably get to explaining those soon. Oh, and right now you might be wondering why I’m on literally EVERY channel. Heh, don’t worry, I won’t explain that ever.

Now, I’m sure all of America has heard of Columbia National Academy. 150 of ‘America’s Best Students’ attending a school in Washington, D.C….and, by now, you’ve probably heard of the kidnapping of 15 of those students from the campus of Columbia National Academy, one of the most sophisticated kidnappings in American history, and right now you may be wondering why? Who could do this? What could these kids have ever done to warrant them being abducted? You know, the real boring fucking question that America has to ask after every fucking tragedy.

Now, I’m here to answer your questions. My name is Mr. Producer. First question is: What’s going on? Well, to put it simply, I have abducted these fine specimens of American youth for your enjoyment. Next question: Why? Well, you _asshole_ , I just answered that question. Well, probably not well enough. You see, I’m going to be putting on a little show for America. To show you that no amount of intellect, muscle, attractiveness, et-fucking-all, will keep these teenagers from being teenagers, from being human beings.

So, to explain further, I created a reality show with these 15 hand-selected teenagers. I abducted them, I put them in this mansion I built, I put in cameras, and I gave them rules…a lot of rules. But the only rule the viewing public needs to worry about right now is that I will keep them in this mansion for the rest of their lives. There is no escape in the mansion. There’s no windows or doors to the outside or anything. There is only one way to leave forever.

If any of these fine examples of the American nation wants to leave this show forever, they’ll have to kill for it. They’re going to have to get their hands fucking dirty. In order to leave, they’ll have to commit the perfect murder.

No, I’m not joking. I’m dead serious.

After they literally _murder_ someone, they’ll have to prove they didn’t do it to their peers, and if they succeed, they’ll leave. The game goes on. If they get found out, I’ll take care of it. This happens until I run out of people. And then, like it or not, it’ll happen again. And again. And again.

Well, I think that’s enough talking for me. On with the show, yeah?

(More static. Shot of all 15 CONTESTANTS sprawled out on the foyer floor, shot from the camera [for reference, all shots from now on are done through the security cameras until further notice.] The shot glitches and distorts until settling)

M.P. (Voiceover): Here they are, the little angels! Of course, this is after the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing. They should be waking up any second now…

(RUSSELL is the first one to wake up. There’s a zoom in on his face, along with a graphic of his name, title, and home state. This happens every time someone new is introduced. He immediately checks the person nearest to him, SOPHIA, for a pulse, then shakes her awake.)

(Through subtitles [All dialog is told through subtitles, from here on out]: )

SOPHIA: What’s…where-what’s going on..?

RUSSELL: Dunno, just get everyone awake!

(RUSSELL goes around and wakes everyone up, SOPHIA joins in later. By the time they get to JACK, they check for a pulse. RUSSELL looks away mournfully, nods to SOPHIA. GORDON goes in to check him out, and frowns.)

M.P.: Well, that’s not good! But fuck that dead kid, there’s introductions to do!

(Smash cuts [whenever there’s a cut, there’s around a half-second to a second of static] to everyone introducing themselves in the main hallways. JACK eventually staggers in, GORDON begins to address him, and JACK collapses.)

GORDON: Shit! Yo, someone help me with this!

(RUSSELL picks up JACK’s body and carries him around, directed by GORDON. They eventually find the TV Room, and place him on the couch.)

M.P.: Let’s fast forward to a few hours later…

(There’s multiple shots of the mansion and it’s inhabitants fast-forwarded, with some random conversations between the CONTESTANTS [NANCY and SOPHIA talking about nature, RUSSELL asking GORDON if he surfs, etc.] wakes up and screams.)

M.P.: Well, it turns out the dead kid isn’t so dead after all.  What a special snowflake, passing out within the first hour!

(Cut to JACK introducing himself to GORDON and DIANNA. His graphics pop up.)

M.P.: We only got thirty minutes until the _big announcement!_ Let’s get this boring footage sped up, shall we?

(More speeding up, with only one conversation in between – EDWIN being shown around the store room by WESTIN, and we cut to MR. PRODUCER’S first announcement. Everyone gathers around the theater door, which opens)

[The entirety of Chapter 3 plays out, and after M.P. finishes, the shot slowly devolves into static as the CONTESTENTS react.]

M.P.: (Voicing over the static) Well, that’s what I told them! The fine folks watching at home are going to get more information, but for now, let’s see those rules, huh?

[Scene from Chapter 4 plays out, where the CONTESTANTS read the rules]

M.P.: And how about those precious reaction shots, right?

(Shots of different CONTESTANTS inside their dorms, facing their mirrors)

EDWIN: (Running his hands through his hair, staring into the mirror) Shit…well, I’ll be the first to admit I have no fuckin’ idea what’s goin’ on, but…y’know, if my parents are watchin’, then…I love you guys, okay? And I’ll try to get out if I can…(Sighs)

WESTIN: (Pacing his room, shirt fully unbuttoned) Positive…gotta stay positive…remember, America’s watching! (Short, nervous laugh to himself)

(Shot of JACK grabbing the pictures on his dresser and throwing them against the wall)

(Shot of DIANNA crying into her pillow)

J.J.: (Leaning against her bed) Well, ain’t this a big clusterfuck I got myself into…

(Shot of MALCOLM casually getting ready for bed)

(Quick, half-second shots of the rest of the CONTESTANTS in their rooms, until the video suddenly turns black for two seconds. Return to the original shot of MR. PRODUCER.)

M.P: Well, that’s everything. I’d like to remind everyone that, yes, this is happening. The government is already on top of it, I’m sure, and they’re likely hunting for whoever did it, and may I remind you all that this intrusion is, and has apparently been, untraceable. The kids might as well have disappeared into thin air!

Now, most reality shows have some sort of ‘audience participation’ feature, and let’s just say I’m more than willing to have something like that! If you know what to do and where to go, you’ll be able to reach our website on the .odd anonymous domain network, where you can actually watch a live feed of the mansion! Y’know, minus the bedrooms. You’ll also be able to participate in polls, vote on who’ll make it, and even bet your favorite cyrptocurrency on who’ll die first or last! And, of course, it’s untraceable, so good luck, Johnny Law!

Well, I’m afraid that’s all we have together. We’ll now return to your regularly scheduled programing, and we’ll be back tomorrow, same time! Be ready! Goodnight, America!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a slog to write. I've always had a knack for playwriting, and a lot of people have told me I write good dialogue, but writing a chapter like this that's pretty much a rehash of the first act is incredibly boring. I started writing this chapter, took a two week break from it out of pure fear of having to do it again, and finished it about two days ago. Needless to say, you probably won't be seeing more of these things, since it's mostly stuff you've already read in a new way. Of course, if people like reading that sort of thing, than I'd be happy to oblige.  
> Next chapter will be uploaded right after this one.


	12. Five Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things fall apart and Jack ends the day on a odd note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder - there's two chapters before this! Go back to "Fine Dining" and read ahead.

“Well, watcha think?” Mr. Producer appeared as a full shadow against the white projected screen. “We were watching that in real time with the rest of America! Cool, right?”

He kept talking, but I couldn’t stop reminding myself that _this was actually fucking happening_. Before I knew it, I was trembling, and my breathing got really fucking heavy, I couldn’t stop thinking that _this was happening, this was happening and I couldn’t fucking get out and I’m going to fucking **die** here and there’s no rescue because nobody knows where the fuck we are, nobody can trace the goddamned signal and there’s no fucking way_

“Yo, baldy!” Oh fuck, was he talking to me?!  “Yeah, you! What do you think of this? You look like you’re taking it pretty badly, right?”

Think of fucking something to say, he has a fucking _gun_! “It’s…I…don’t….I don’t fucking know, alright?!” Some hand was on my back, and I didn’t check to see whose it was before I shook it off. I didn’t even look up, I just sat there, choking back tears and wanting something to fucking happen before more people paid attention to me.

“So, anyway, now you know that the folks viewing at home have an impact on you!” Mr. Producer continued, thankfully taking his attention off of me. “They’ll be able to vote once a day on their favorite contestants using an _un-fucking-traceable_ website and even bet their favorite cryptocurrency on who’s gonna survive! It’ll be a fun intractable activity for the full family! And you’ll be able to keep track of it using your House I.D.s. In fact, the top three winners of the polls will get prizes! So, good luck out there!

“Well, that’s all I really wanted to show you. I’m not sure if I’ll keep showing you these, since they’re _so fun_ for me, but I’d hate to rob you guys of your freedom every damn night. So I guess that’s it for tonight. I hope you all have a good night’s sleep!” And, with that, his tie clicked off, the restraints came undone, the spotlight and projector turned off, and we were left in the dark. Again.

“Well…” J.J. sounded like a mixture of sad and relieved. “Ain’t that it? This is actually happening?”

Franklin was, surprisingly, smiling. “There’s a bright side… everyone knows what’s happening with us now, and the government should be able to find us quicker.”

“Yeah, you know what?” Malcolm was the first to stand up, his arms crossed confidently. “They said this was the biggest signal intrusion in American history. That means there’s some serious equipment involved, and it’s going to be hard to make sure that something of that magnitude doesn’t get picked up on. I’d say we have, like, a day left in here before someone comes and rescues us.”

That…actually made sense, in a way. I felt stupid for thinking that rescue wouldn’t come, that nobody would be able to find out where we were, and now they could, and we’d be rescued, right? I was feeling more hopeful and actually goddamned amazing. Plus…”What about the website? Can’t they track that easily?”

“Uh, not really, sorry,” Malcolm paused, apparently trying to come up with a better explanation. “He mentioned it had an _dot odd_ site. That stands for _onion designated domain_. It’s an effectively hidden and anonymous website. The way they work is that the data for the site is encrypted and bounced around multiple different servers and computers around the globe,  so it’s almost impossible to track what data’s going where or where the actual domains are hosted, so our best bet is still the signal interference.”

At least there was still hope, I guessed

“Well, how about we go back into the dining room until Night Time?” Sophia suggested, standing up and stretching her arms. Everyone else, including me, agreed.

* * *

 

The dining room was exactly as we had left it, empty plates and all, and we sat in our old seats

“So, I guess we’re all real fuckin’ famous now.” Edwin said as he pulled his chair next to the table.

“I guess so…” Rebecca turned her head downwards before suddenly jerking it back up, apparently remembering something. “Say, Edwin, would you mind if you try to cut down on your foul language?”

“Why the fuck should I?” He leaned back in his seat , pretty much not caring. “They said in the rules that I can talk shit all I want. I just can’t, y’know, start fucki-“

Russell interjected at just the right time. “Cool it, man.”

“Oh, shut the hell up. Why is it a problem? I can talk the way I want to, you prick.”

“I don’t see why it’s a problem,” Sarah shrugged and frowned a little bit. “It could just be his way of coping.”

“It’s _innapropriate!_ We should be maintaining a mature environment here, and using words like that just makes you seem, well, _juvenile_!” Rebecca was sort of standing out of her chair, steadily getting more and more angrier.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s ‘juvenile’ or not, it’s just how I talk,” Edwin was now smiling, kinda, and was leaning his chair back on its hind legs. “Hey, listen to the hipster, it’s an, eh, _coping mechanism_.”

Sarah seemed obviously insulted, but her words didn’t convey it. “…Whatever.”

Rebecca started speaking in that angry way again, and she was already fully out of her chair, and I started getting more anxious. “Listen, I’m only going to tell you **once** ¸ I’d very much appreciate it if you toned down your language-“

Edwin laughed. Wrong move. “And what are you going to do about it, bitch-”

I glanced over at Rebecca – she was trembling, twitching, eyes bulging, her face was red, her teeth bared, and I was fucking terrified. And then she started to speak louder and angrier than ever before.

 **“How about I COME OVER THERE AND WRING THAT LITTLE NECK OF YOURS so you can FINALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP, HUH?!”** She pounded on the table, retrieving some piece of silverware from her plate. I ducked. **“Or should I stab this FUCKING FORK into your FUCKING WINDPIPE and-“**

The entire table was fucking silent, or at least shocked, and Rebecca looked at all of our faces before jerking her body back, dropping the fork, and looking at her hands like they were covered in fucking blood, eyes still wide, but with confusion instead of anger. She started breathing more slowly, and I’m pretty sure there were tears in her eyes, and when she ran out of the room we all pretended not to hear her start to cry.

We sat there, not talking, some doing it out of confusion, some fear, and I was a mixture of both. I actually fucking thought I was in danger-here was a person who was literally having a fucking breakdown, and she had a sharp thing in her hand – what was keeping her from coming back in here and killing fucking everyone?! I kept thinking about the fucking insane things people do when they’re overcome by rage and I couldn’t hear Westin trying to keep everyone upbeat, an effort that was mostly working. I was only able to hear his last few words.

“…Well, we have around 2 hours left until Night Time. I’d say that’s enough for one movie, right?” He smiled, before continuing in a gentler tone. “Of course, if you feel like going to bed early, than nobody’s holding it against you.”

I really did feel like going to bed, especially after that short burst of nightmare, so I was the first to say goodnight and exit the dining room.

In the hallway, I came face to face with Rebecca, who was sitting against the wall, one hand cradling her face and another holding her knees close to her chest. My first thought was _whatever_ , but she just looked so…regretful. Sad. Like she fucked up big time and there was no way of recovering from the fall.

Against my best instincts, I sat down next to her, cross-legged, tempted to put an arm around her shoulder, but I decided not to so she wouldn’t snap at me or something. “Hey, everything okay?” I tried to soften my voice a little bit, put her at ease, I don’t know, do something to calm her down, and at the same moment I reminded myself that I really didn’t have any experience with angry people, only calming down myself.

She looked at me with tear-stained cheeks, with eyes that reminded me of how a little kid looks at you when you scold them for something they didn’t know they did wrong. “I-just…it was never that bad…I don’t…” As she spoke, she took big gulps of air, wiping tears from her eyes, though it looked like she used all of them up already. “It’s never gotten that bad in _so long_ …”

I nodded my head while not really understanding what she meant.

“I mean, I just mean…it’s so stressful, and I…I just don’t know anymore...”

“Hey, neither do I, but we’re going to survive, alright? You can count on me,” I put my arm around her shoulders, like I originally planned, and she looked at me, smiling warmly, and let go of her knees a little bit. “Do you want to go watch the movie, or..?”

Rebecca looked away from me, smiling a bit, though sadder. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s afraid of me now…it’s no use…”

“I’m not.”

“That…” She sighed, balled up her fist a little before releasing it and smiling, a bit forced. “I appreciate it, but…I just don’t know.”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

Rebecca looked up and thought. “I think I’m just going to go up to my dorm now. Thanks for…thanks.” She uneasily stood up and started walking, and since I didn’t know if anyone was waiting for her up there, I tagged along. She apparently didn’t mind. Since we were on opposite ends of the hallway, we waved good-bye to each other and entered our dorms at the same time.

I followed the routine I had last night of taking out the shit I had in my pockets, taking off my jacket, throwing on a pair of pajama pants, and turning off the light before collapsing on the bed. It was a tiring whirlwind of a day…after tossing and turning for an hour, I don’t think I had any trouble getting to sleep.

If only it was that easy.

I had to go to the bathroom. I had to make sure there was nobody in the halls. I thought about trying to talk to my mom via that confession mirror, but decided against it. I eventually turned on my I.D. and saw two new options on the menu – BETS and POLLS. BETS had a list of everyone and two things – if they would die and if they would snap and kill someone, with each option having several different currency values. I didn’t even bother looking at who had the highest bet for which one.

POLLS was simple. It was a graph of all of us assigned to a different color (I was black). The current leader was a tie between Nancy and Westin, with Rebecca coming in second  and Malcolm in third. I was something like seventh or eighth. Of course.

I shut my I.D. off and mostly just waited to feel exhausted, until I remembered the nose trick from last night, which I ended up doing again. I feel asleep almost immediately afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for tonight, and last chapter before the first major plot event! I can hardly wait!  
> But, of course, there's always something that has to happen to throw a wrench in my plan, so next week's chapter might be a day late. Sorry!


	13. Abnormal End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack hurts, then hurts more, then meets someone who has him beat.

Why wasn’t I asleep?

I was asleep, and now I’m not. What the fuck?

There wasn’t even any of that damn static from yesterday morning. That meant I either woke up early or late, either one was fucking great.

I tried to go back to bed but couldn’t. I was as awake as ever, and, for some god damned reason, my head fucking _hurt_.  I ended up just sitting upright in my bed for how fucking long until I tried to yawn and covered my mouth with my hand and felt something wet under my nose. Wet and warm. That definitely wasn’t right.

I stumbled through my room, groping the walls for the light switch, which I eventually managed to turn on, and glanced down at my hand. There was a long streak of abnormal color going down my palm. Blood.  Nosebleed. Son of a fucking _bitch._

I sort of walked, sort of stumbled towards my bathroom door, flung it open, managed to tear off a bit of toilet paper and stuffed it right up there. One problem solved, I guess. Now, how to solve this fucking headache that was probably the first sign that I was dying?

There were…pills, aspirin, in the store room, right? I remembered looking at it more in depth…shit, couldn’t have been more than 12 hours ago. They had to have had pain meds, right?

In my painful haze, I managed to put a pair of jeans over my boxers and put on a new t-shirt, grabbed my knife and I.D., and slipped out of the front door. The outside hallway was, thankfully, dim, with the lights set on the lowest setting possible that still provided light, and I thought that anything more would probably cause my head to go from ‘unbearable’ to ‘would kill me’.  I hugged the walls, sometimes holding my head in my hands, sometimes walking fine, and sometimes feeling like I had to double over in pain. _Why the fuck do I hurt so **bad**?!_   I felt blood should be pouring out of my ears, and I could actually feel that ball of tissue paper becoming heavy with more blood.

I got to the stairwell and immediately thought _oh shit, I have to climb down stairs now?!_   I grabbed the railing with all of my fucking might and slowly, _slowly_ inched down, feeling the cold concrete under my toes, and I could hear the buzzing fluorescent above me, fucking _invading_ my brain and poking at it like a hot knife. It took what felt like a little more than five minutes to climb down both flights, and when I finally reached the door to the first floor, I felt like cheering,, but I knew that if I screamed my head would probably explode.

The first floor was lit in the same soft, dim light as the second, and I crept over to the store room door, placing my hand on the doorknob…

And getting the shit shocked the fuck out of me.

I yanked my now-twitching, probably burnt to a crisp arm away, while screaming as loud as I possibly could _(pretty fucking loud!)_ because  _holy shit it fucking hurt,_ and then my head reacted to my scream by fucking _detonating,_  and I was completely unable to fucking cope with all this pain, so I just fucking collapsed, curling up, crying probably.

Nobody came. Nobody woke up. The dorms were probably soundproofed, dumbass! Of course they wouldn’t! 

I lied there forever, crying, wondering _Why me? Why the fuck me?!,_ though not as clear as that, because my brain was fried too. Everything was fried. I could feel my arm twitching a little bit still, and it grew to my eyelid, though I didn’t know if that was due to the pain or the other pain, before all the twitching stopped completely.

My arm regained some feeling, thank God, and I was able to somewhat pry myself off the floor, mainly out of fear that someone would see me like this, and I kinda walked, kinda lurched over to the stairwell door, but before I could ascend the flight of stairs, I was stopped in my tracks.

There was…someone. In a chair. Looking at me. On the floor down. Right in front of the stairs. I couldn’t tell who in the dim light, but it was still there.

It…had to be a hallucination, right? I kept blinking, but it wouldn’t go away. Looked away for a second and back, and it was still there.

I couldn’t help myself from going towards it, managing to walk down the steps without and support. My hand was a bit in front of me, just in case whoever the fuck this was leaped up, and my other hand was on the knife in my pocket. I managed to slur out a “Hello?”, and it didn’t respond.

As I got towards whatever the fuck it was, I could make out that…its hands were bound to whatever chair it was in, I could see something sticking out of them…shit, this wasn’t good…there was blood covering his shirt, so much fucking blood, black hair, I think, his face had glasses…was it-

A loud, screeching siren suddenly filled the air, my brain exploded like a bomb and I thought that chunks of my skull and splatters of blood were vividly painting the room, and the pain I felt in my head intensified, multiplied, flooded my body, and there was nothing but a sharp pain coursing through all of my veins instead of blood and I swore to God _this is what dying felt like_ , and I suddenly felt heavy, crumpling down on top of myself and only able to somewhat break my fall, landing my head right on top of the concrete step, which felt like a fucking ax cleaving my scalp off, and I felt like the blood coming from my nose was running down my body like a river, a waterfall, and I was only able to see the dim light bulb hanging above on a chain, fading in and out of my vision, sometimes becoming multiple and sometimes dancing across my eyes like a fly, and I could hear in the distance a door opening, talking, footsteps, and someone screaming which then made my skull start cracking open and releasing the pain again, making it flow over my body, someone started dragging me up the stairs and it felt like every bump broke my body and I tried to look up at the person grabbing me but their face was just kept twitching and fading out of my vision and I was only able to make out a face full of skin, and they dragged me out of the room I was in and into another, and that’s when I finally felt like I died.

* * *

“Jack?”

My vision slowly went from black to a mixture of different colors that eventually became shapes, forms, and then finally figures. Gordon was kneeling in front of me, dressed in a navy blue shirt and pajama pants, with Caroline in a deep purple set of pajamas and Dianna in a white shirt and short standing in the background and Rebecca, wearing a wrinkly grey shirt and blue jeans, staring at me from far away, leaning on a wall.

“Jack, is everything okay?” Gordon had his hand on my shoulder, waving another in front of my face. “How are you feeling? I can get you back up to your room if you need it, alright?”

I slurred out something that I wasn’t even able to hear.

“Only five minutes.”

I tried making words again, and I couldn’t hear them again.

“Yeah…yeah, we found Malcolm,” Malcolm? Malcolm's dead?! SOMEONE'S DEAD?! Shit shit shit _shit shit_. It's only the third fucking day in here! Someone...someone literally fucking...“We thought you were the one, but Russell saw him when he got you,” Gordon looked away, and behind him I could see Dianna wipe something from her cheek. “Look, do you need anything? Talk to anyone?”

I felt under my nose. Nothing. I felt my head. Also nothing. My headache was gone, I didn’t have any pain…I was fine, as far as I knew. “No, I’m….”

“Alright. Look, I’m gonna go get a sense of the situation, you stay here.” He pat me on the shoulder and stood up, walking away. Dianna came up to me, hugged me tightly against my best wishes, smiled weakly, and starting to speak in a comforting, yet depressed tone of voice.

“If…if you need anything, I’m going to be in the T-V room, okay..?” She hugged me again, and left.

I was alone for a little bit, watching the people around me. Nancy, in a green t-shirt and pajama pants, was fighting back tears, sitting near the store room door, while Sarah, wearing another grey hoodie and her beanie, was taking her guitar out of its case, trying to cheer Nancy up by talking to her. Gordon and Caroline were talking, before heading off to the stairwell. Edwin was in his black pair of pajamas, leaning against a wall, hands running through his black hair.

I was looking at one of the black paintings on the wall, trying to get my head straight, before it unexpectedly came to life. Mr. Producer’s tie suddenly flashed on the screen, glowed for a bit, before showing a video of Mr. Producer sitting in a director’s chair, leaning forward, with a wall of screens and monitors behind him. It was a fucking screen, not a painting. I’m an idiot.

“Well, now that _some of us_ are awake, I’d like to officially announce that we have had our first loss! I’m very excited to report that that kid with the glasses, the one with the white and black hair like a fucking skunk, has Lost the Game! We’re now going to officially begin the Investigation period, y’know, the thing I told you guys about last night. And, in order to get all of the juicy footage, I am now releasing the Drones!”

On cue, a hatch opened up in the ceiling, releasing three things that looked like sleek and black toy RC helicopters with cameras attached to the front. They flew around, one coming close to my face and swirling around my body, sometimes hovering in one place or next to one person for a while before whizzing off again, which was kinda surreal to watch.

“If you know the rules, then you’d know not to hit them at all, or else I’d have to use those _scary_ guns. Now, that’s it! I’ll call you all back when it’s time to start the Trial. Oh, I can’t wait! Imagine the ratings when this episode hits the airwaves!”

The screen went black, and I started thinking, gazing upwards at nothing. This is happening.  _This is actually happening_ …but...didn’t I think about…. _killing_ someone yesterday? Thinking about who would fucking keep me from suspicion? Thinking about actually fucking pulling it off? Was I even able to deal with killing someone? Fuck, this is…what the fuck is going on with me?

“Hey…Jack,” There was a voice from above me, and Rebecca suddenly was sitting next to me, smiling, kinda, leaning forward and staring at me straight in my eyes. “Last night, you said I can count on you, right?”

I…did say that, right?  “Yeah, what about it?”

“You seem like a good kid, so…what if you help me solve this murder?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we finally lived up to the tags! I'm thinking if I should add more based off how of how our unlucky contestant bit it. My main worry is that if I add the tags, then people will get spoiled, but I'm really not sure and I want to make sure people are aware, especially when the later ones come. Those are going to get really violent and I want to make sure readers know what they are getting into.  
> I actually sympathize with Jack in this chapter, since I woke up in the middle of the night last Wednesday with a massive headache and a weird lump inside my throat. I ended up going back to this one earlier today and adding in some more things from my experience to convey how actually fucking painful and disorientating that is.  
> Just a heads up: Due to me being away from my computer most of this week, I wasn't able to keep working on the fic and currently I only have one more chapter that's ready to be uploaded, so after that I might have to switch from 'every Friday' to 'whenever it's done', which I really hate, but my days should be free so it might not be a problem.  
> Side note: I got a lot out of interrobangs this chapter.


	14. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns more about the victim than he ever wanted to.

“I’m sorry?”

Rebecca had just asked me to help her solve Malcolm's fucking murder, and was right now staring at me like I just started spouting gibberish. “Look, no, it’s _fine_ , I can do it by myself-“

“No, no, just, why do you want me?”

“Because…” She sighed. “Because I think I’d need help with this, and…you’re the only one who seemed to like me after my…my outburst last night. Plus, I have a feeling everyone thinks I’m the murderer, since I threatened to kill somebody and…you don’t think I did, right? K-killed Malcolm?”

“No, you seem fine.” Of course, she had to remind me that someone was dead.

“Thank you. In truth, I think murder is an absolutely abhorrent crime and I believe the perpetrator needs to be brought to justice, and if I have to carry out that punishment _myself_ , so be it. But in order to find out who’s done it, I need to find it out, and I will need help with that.”

Something about that didn’t seem right. “If you think murder’s so…ab-hor-ant, then why did you threaten Edwin like that last night?”

Rebecca sighed, again, and started speaking slowly, like every word reminded her of an awful truth. “Sometimes I’m just not in the right place mentally, okay?”

“Uh, yeah, makes sense.” It didn't.

“Ready?” Rebecca smiled at me, standing up fully, and pulled out a small leather case from her back pocket, getting out a pair of silver, thin framed glasses and placing them on her nose gently.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, let’s get you up.” She held out her hand, hoisting me up, and supported me by my shoulders as I staggered around a little bit, and started walking me towards the stairwell door. “We’re going to take a good look at Malcolm’s…his corpse, so be ready.” She apparently had trouble coming to terms with it, and, for the record, so did I.

We entered the stairwell and down the flight to the decently sized area, and I was finally able to get a good look at it.

It was fucking horrifying. There’s really no other way to describe it. He…it…his corpse…was sitting in a chair, his head turned downwards, with some sort of white fabric tied around his head under it, running over his lips. His hands… his hands were set on the arms of the chair, duct taped down, and…there were fucking _nails_ driven through his palms, absolutely covered in blood …it was….he was fucking dead - this was actually fucking happening - somebody _murdered_ him and-

“I told you to prepare yourself…” She let go of me, and I immediately sat down on the stairs, breathing slowly, trying to keep my eyes off it, ignoring the Drone that came in with us and started flying close to the…corpse. “Malcolm Cole, America’s Best Teenage Entrepreneur…” She sighed, leaned her head down in what I guessed was a sign of respect, and sighed deeply. “So, in order to start, we need to start asking ourselves questions,” How was she able to be calm in a situation like this? “This isn’t a normal way of dispatching someone. There was obviously a lot of time and effort put into it…why?”

I heard the door swing open and two sets of footsteps come down the stairs. Gordon and Caroline came down the steps, with Gordon having some sort of tool kit, or at least a bundle of metal things wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“Caroline, excuse me, but what do you think about this?” Rebecca asked, causing the psychologist to pause and think for a bit. “I was just saying about how it wasn’t normal.”

“Oh, uh…it’s certainly abnormal…it looks like a crime of hatred, really. The person wanted to take time with it, make sure Malcolm suffered…I feel sorry for him.”

I glanced upward, looking at his wounds and trying to make sense of everything, slowly coming to terms that he was actually dead, before something clicked with me, and I remembered some bad stuff at the best time. ”Is his throat cut at all?”

Gordon set down his tools, a pair of scissors, a long metal stick and a pair of tweezers, and leaned Malcolm’s head backwards. He had experience working on stiffs before, of course he isn’t freaking out…wait, am I the only one here that’s flipping out? “Nope, it’s clean.”

Holy shit, I might actually have something. “You’re right, he probably…bled to death, so it wasn’t instant.”

Rebecca seemed impressed. “Good point. How did you think of that?”

Because I was thinking about death a lot these past two or three days, and how to use my knife? Because my mom told me about a car accident that happened on her way to work one day where the guy was trapped in the wreckage slowly fucking bleeding to death, and one time I saw a video of a guy falling of his bike while riding and break his neck and somehow sever his throat when he landed and I have trouble _not_ thinking about those things sometimes? “I don’t know.”

Gordon kneeled down in front of the corpse’s knees, like it was absolutely nothing, and started unzipping his hoodie like nothing. Watching him do it like he was used to it kind of helped me come to terms with this whole damn thing. He unzipped all the way to the top, and uncovered his bloody shirt.

Under it, carved into his _fucking skin through his shirt_ , was the word KILLER. There was blood dried around it, and it seem like it was cut really deep into his upper chest and…I just stared at it, mouth open, while I was reminded of something.

Someone did this. Someone, one of the 14 other fucking people I had talked to, I had lived with for the past two days had taken the time to abduct Malcolm, tie him down into a chair, drive nails into his _fucking hands_ , and carve those words into his chest and let him bleed to death. _One of us did that._ It might even be someone standing in this fucking room! Nancy, Russell, Franklin, Dianna.…it could be anyone.

I head the door swing open while I was thinking and heard a gasp. I looked behind my shoulder and saw Sophia standing in the doorway, still in her P.J,s – a tank top, with a picture of a heart-shaped Earth printed on it, and a pair of grey sweatpants, with her red bandanna tied around her arm like always – with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide in fear. “Oh my God– I had no idea…”

Gordon sounded sad, dismissive, and very depressed. “Nobody did. Whoever did this…”

Rebecca sounded the exact same, and interjected her own opinion. “It certainly was a crime of hate…who did he kill, though?”

“It could be metaphorical.” Caroline suggested, and she thought for a second before continuing. I noticed that now she couldn’t take her eyes off of Malcolm’s corpse. “His death reminds me of a punishment of sorts…the nails pounded into his hands, it brings to mind crucifixion. It bears repeating that whoever did this certainly wanted him to suffer for his 'crimes'.”

“That’s awful…” Sophia said. “I didn’t believe this could happen. Uh, I’m going to go look for anything out of the ordinary, just call me if you need anything. Good luck..?” And with that, she was out.

Gordon started investigating the cuts, much to my disgust, using his stick to probe inside and making all sorts of awful squishing noises. I felt like I was going to vomit. “These wounds, they’re not deep. Would one of you mind looking in the kitchen for a knife about…” He put his fingers apart, with around two inches between them. “This long?”

Rebecca leaned in close to me. “Listen, Jack, how about this – I go and talk to everyone, get their alibis, and you look for a knife like that? And…hm, how about you look for duct tape, a hammer, and nails?”

“Rebecca, let me come with you,” Caroline asked, well, demanded. “I have experience with this. You can help with the…uh, well, the…” She was obviously struggling for the right word to use.

“Keeping the bastards in order?” Rebecca joked, apparently not fazed by Caroline’s suggestion.

“That works.” They left side by side, up the stairs and out the door.

“Jack,” Gordon addressed me, while standing up and taking off Malcolm’s corpse’s mask of white cloth. “Here, as long as you’re looking for clues, take this,” He handed me the white fabric, still rolled up. “I’m going to find out everything I can about this – I mean, him. I mean, I’m a surgeon, not a forensic dude, but I should be good enough.” He returned to his original position, now focused on Malcolm’s hands, using his gross stick to push it around the nails, and I left, unable to think if I could stomach any more.

The first thing I did when I got back in the hallway was resist the urge to scream, completely fucking unable to cope with what was going on. The whole thing, everyone’s calmness towards it – shit, I watched someone fucking die in a video and came close to it a few times, but why the fuck was I the one freaking the fuck out?! Everything that happened today – me thinking I was dying, my random nosebleed and headache, the fact that Malcolm was _dead_ – it was all so fucking _insane_.

Jesus…alright, whatever. I had a mission, I can’t stand here fucking around all day, feeling sorry for myself and dwelling on it.

That seemed like the hardest thing in the world to do.

I rushed to the dining room, into the kitchen, and started pulling out drawers in search for knives. There were measuring cups, silverware, pots and pans, stuff you’d usually find in a kitchen, but no sharp things other than forks and butter knives. The only knives I could even find was a set kept in an extra-long wooden block, but those were all long, sharp, some were serrated, some were wide, they were all way longer than two inches. Were these the only knives we had -

No. They weren’t. I pulled out my pocket knife, the one I was playing with yesterday while I was…whatever, I flipped it out and measured the blade mentally. It was around two inches long, so unless I found a knife around the same size, than the killer used one of these knives. Only boys got this, right? So that meant whoever killed Malcolm had to be a guy. Shit, I might be on to something!

I tucked the pocket knife back into my jeans, excited, got out of the dining room, glancing at Caroline and Rebecca entering the T.V. room as I walked by, and started thinking about where I could find some sort of hammer and nails…

I tried to think back to where one could possibly be…wasn’t there a whole rack of hammers in the store room? But… the door’s locked…wait, wasn’t the kitchen door supposed to be locked, too? And I literally just went through it without thinking. I headed towards the store room, filled with a new confidence that I might actually be helping.

The store room seemed exactly as I left it, and I silently walked over to the section where I remembered the hammers being. Of course, there was whole row of claw hammers hanging from a stick like you’d find in a hardware store, but the stick seemed too long, that, or one was missing, so if that was the case, than the person who killed Malcolm…damn, it’s still hard to think about that, but…it meant that the hammer was with them. I glanced down at the boxes of screws and nails and, of course, one box was missing from the nail section, and when I found the rolls of duct tape there was one missing from one of the two stacks, which confirmed my theory. So we had a person walking around with a knife, tape, nails, and a hammer. Shit.

I was about to leave before I decided to do a quick sweep of the store room in case anything else was missing, anything out of the ordinary, just pretty much anything I could find, but right as I began my search, the door opened, and Sarah walked in, sans guitar. She glanced at me, smiled, and started combing through the food section of shelves. “How’s it going?”

I’m going between sorta freaking out and moments of clarity, and thanks to Rebecca I have to solve a murder. “Alright, just investigating about…y’know, him.”

“Ah, yeah. It’s a shame, I didn’t think it would happen so soon...I mean, it was going to happen eventually, but...nevermind,” she sighed, and she definitely seemed less tense than she was before. “Just getting water.  I’m putting on a little concert for Nancy and, well, whoever needs a distraction,” She turned to me, bottle of water in hand, about to say something but paused as she started walking over by one of the shelves. “Was that stuff there before?”

“What?” I tried to trace her gaze, and noticed a trail-slash-puddle of something…white? It was a small, thin trail, almost dried up from the looks of it, but thanks to the concrete floor it really didn’t have a lot of places to go other than getting evaporated. It started in a big puddle, trailed for a little bit in small drips, and then stopped completely. Sarah and I walked over, and I knelt down and sniffed it, touched it, and thought about tasting it but then realizing I’d probably die. It had a chemical-ish scent, almost like bleach.

“Look…” Sarah pointed to the shelf it was next to, full of chemicals and cleaners, all in clear bottles with generic names printed in black. “There’s some bleach missing from the bottle.”

Why would someone use bleach? Was that how Malcolm died? Did they make him drink it or something? Or did they…I grabbed that white piece of cloth from my back pocket, and unrolled it completely, and looked at it carefully.

“What’s that?” Sarah tried tugging it away from me, almost ripping it, and I let go just in time.

“Gordon found it wrapped around Malcolm’s mouth.”

“Oh, Jesus, it reeks.” She was sniffing it for some reason, instead of looking at it. “It’s definitely bleach.”

“Yeah, that’s what the puddle is, I think.”

“Y’know, I wrote an entire song about a dude getting knocked out by a cloth soaked in bleach by an asshole at a party. It was from a really dark album about the bad kinds of people, but, uh, anyway, it takes like five minutes to put someone out of commission, I looked into it. This thing could be used like a combination of knocking someone out and keeping them quiet.”

“So someone bleached, like, a cloth napkin just to knock someone out?”

“Nah, this is too thin to be a napkin. I really dunno what it is, but I don’t wanna hold onto it much longer,” Sarah handed it back to me, carefully holding it by a corner. “Besides, I gotta get back to Nancy. Uh, good luck, dude.”

I waved goodbye and tried to work out what happened in my head. Did someone just dip the not - napkin or whatever the fuck this was into bleach and then wring it out? No, wait, it takes longer to bleach something than just dipping it in. It has to be left in for, shit, I don’t know. I put the bleach bottle on the ground next to the puddle and acted out what I thought happened – someone dipped it into the bleach, dragged it over to where the puddle is now, and…wringed it out? Let it drip out? Shit, I had to remember this.

I tucked the cloth back into my jeans and headed out, managing to run back into Rebecca and Caroline.

“Jack, did you find what I asked?” Rebecca sounded calm for such a pleading statement.

“Yeah, well…I couldn’t find any knives that long, but the pocket knife all the boys got is, like, two inches in length,” I handed Rebecca mine from my pocket, and watched her flip the blade in and out, studying it. “So that means a boy did it.”

“Right, and girls got…”Caroline looked at me, trying to remember something. “Were there any…frying pans in the kitchen?”

I investigated that damn kitchen from top to bottom, and I knew the answer. “No. Only, like, pots and saucepans and stuff, no frying pans.”

“Samson was cooking all day yesterday, he must’ve used a frying pan…” Rebecca concluded.

“So you think he traded his knife for one?”

“It’s possible. So it’s either any of the men or one specific woman. What else did you find? What about the hammers?”

“There’s a hammer, a box of nails, and a roll of tape missing. So whoever did it kept them.”

“Alright. What else did you find?”

“There’s, like, a puddle or two of bleach in the store room, and, check this out,” I dug out the white cloth and handed it to her. “This smells like bleach, so I think the killer drenched it in a bottle of it and made Malcolm inhale it so-“

“So he’d get knocked out and wouldn’t scream or anything! Jack, you’re a genius!” Rebecca concluded, smiling and handed the cloth back to me.

Caroline interjected. “That doesn’t fit my hypothesis. If the killer incapacitated Malcolm with the fumes, then why make him suffer like they did? Malcolm wouldn’t even feel his wounds. They must’ve bleached it for another reason.”

Rebecca thought for a minute, before pushing her glasses against her face and scowling. “Look, me and Caroline still have a few people to interview. I appreciate what you’ve done so far, so keep doing it.”

“Okay…just out of curiosity, what do you have so far?”

Caroline sighed, and coughed, before reciting what she had learned. “Our main lead is that Nancy heard a girl arguing with Malcolm last night, she was too scared to discern who, but she thinks it was someone with a bit of a rough voice, so we think it was either J.J., Sophia, Sarah, or…Rebecca, and she was able to hear it because she forgot to close her door all the way last night, which Rebecca and I gently reprimanded her for.”

I thought about it for a second. “You know, all of those sound like they could…” Rebecca shot me a dirty look. “I…uh…I mean…”

Caroline tried to support me. “Sophia is _very_ invested in environmentalism, and according to the reports I have read, Malcolm owned a handful of factories and the parts he obtained for his products were not fair trade. Rebecca, you…you are…well, I’m sure you’re very aware,” The philanthropist looked away, and I could tell she was gritting her teeth inside her mouth. “Sarah is the only one without a pre-existing motive, but the way she’s treating Nancy right now could show that she’s trying to cover up her tracks with the one person who might be the key to this whole ordeal, and when we interviewed J.J., she said that she wants to find the person who did this and make them pay, so I have a feeling she didn’t cause Malcom’s death. Plus, Nancy might’ve picked up on her accent.”

Rebecca sighed, adjusting her glasses, and spoke in a low groan. “ _Finally_ , J.J. also said that she decided to go for a walk around the mansion to clear her mind late last night and found the chair down where it is now - of course, sans Malcolms...body.”

“Why didn’t she do anything about it?”

“She thought it was just harmless.”

“Uh, okay.”

“It could also mean that she’s the one who put it there.” Caroline suggested.

I paused, scratched my head, and started asking questions. “All of these suspects are girls so far.  The killer used a boy’s knife.”

“There’s 14 people in this house, and all of them are equally likely suspects, but to be honest…” Rebecca lowered her head and avoided eye contact with me. “You’re one of the main ones, Jack. You _were_ found right next to the corpse, and you were covered with blood. It’s likely that your injuries were self-inflicted to give you the appearance of innocence, and…” She looked up at me, and I was frozen in shock and total confusion. People actually thought I did this?! ME?! Bull-fucking-shit, that’s impossible.  I didn’t notice that I was starting to shake with anger, and I bared my teeth without realizing it and Rebecca had to place her hand on my shoulder looked me in the eyes, almost whispering. “Jack, I don’t think you did this, and neither does Caroline, but you _do_ look suspicious. Don’t act up, keep quiet and keep your head down,” Rebecca tapped her finger against the frame of her glasses. “Me and Caroline are going to ask Samson about his frying pan. Do what I told you, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll try.” Caroline and Rebecca waved goodbye, than went into the stairwell. Not having anything better to do, and not wanting to keep my head down or whatever the fuck she asked, I went with them and went down with the corpse.

Gordon was still there, wiping a cloth against the stick (which I now noticed was some kind of kebab skewer), and Edwin, leaning against the wall.

“Yo, Jack, Gordon tells me you’re lookin’ for clues, ain’tcha?” Edwin leaned towards me, smiling weirdly. “So, two things – one, when I was tryin’ to sleep last night, I might’ve heard Rebecca goin’ at it with Malcolm about their two corporations. Shit like _‘I expect DiamaWare to invest heavily into the Penn Foundation next year’_ , extortion, stuff like that.“

I sighed, about to claim bullshit before I remembered what Caroline said about Nancy. Shit, this may be bad. Could Rebecca actually..? “Why’re you here, Edwin?”

“Well, I was rootin’ around in Malcolm’s pockets, y’know, lookin’ to see what he had in ‘em, and there’s nothin' in 'em, no I.D. no knife, so I was just about to go check up there in his room to see what’s what, you wanna come?”

“I…uh…” I thought about it for a second. Hell, Malcolm’s room was probably locked, so it wouldn’t hurt to do the little trip. “Sure, why not?”

“Alright, let’s go.” Edwin raced to the top of the stairs, not waiting for me to catch up with him, and by the time I got to the top floor he was already by Malcolm’s door.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” I asked.

He shrugged and smiled. “Hey, you’re the Daredevil ‘round here.”

I sighed, wondered if anyone else was going to use that fucking reasoning again, and grabbed the door handle, realizing that the door was locked, and stepped away.

“No dice, eh?”

I shook my head.

“Well, shit, then I’m fresh outta ideas, unless-“

“ATTENTION ALL CONTESTANTS!” Mr. Producer’s electronic voice came up over the intercom, making me sigh and close my eyes. “The House Trial will be starting shortly! Please make your way down to the elevator room now! I won’t accept people who are late to their big debut!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long read this time, but I don't think that's too much of a problem. If anyone says it is than just tell me and I'll break up the next investigation into smaller chunks.  
> I'm also unsure of my usage of underlining clues, and if I should switch to something like bolding or not doing anything to the clues since you all are way too smart to be pandered to like that.  
> I listened to a lot of synth music while writing this chapter, mostly Perturbator and Dance With The Dead since I have a lot of them, but the track I kept coming back to was Tongue by GosT, which you can listen to here:  
> https://blood-music.bandcamp.com/track/tongue . I think it's the combination of horror movie-like sharp tones and somewhat driving and building beat that makes it a good, mysterious song. I guess you can think of it as the official investigation theme. I don't know if it matches the original investigation theme from the games well, since I haven't had the opportunity to sit down and listen to the OST, sadly.


	15. Arraignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone is convicted of a horrible act.

The first thing I did when I heard the announcement was cross the hallway to my own dorm, enter it, and find my jacket. This entire morning I’ve been wearing a tight black and red promotional t-shirt with the labels from my sponsors on the torso, sleeves, and back, but thanks to my previous nosebleed, there was now a long, unsightly blood-colored stain on the collar area, and I really needed to cover that up.

Plus, my jacket was lucky. I knew that.

I slowly zipped up the leather jacket like I was in a lock-and-load montage from an action movie, probably one from the 80’s, and I glanced at myself in the mirror.

_You can do this. You have help. You’re going to win._

I left the dorm and went back to the stairwell, trying to avoid staring at Malcolm’s corpse, not thinking about it more than I had too, and went to the main floor, trying to find the elevator room. A lot of people were lined up in front of that banged up metal door, except for Nancy and Sarah who were huddled together by the door to the storeroom talking, and Franklin who was writing in a notebook, holding it against the wall.

“Excellent! I’ll get that door unlocked right now.” Mr. Producer announced, there was a loud buzzer that sort of made my head hurt a little, and multiple electronic clicks and sounds came from the door, before it slowly and creakily came open, gently brushing J.J. on the shoulder.

The inside of the new room was dark, dimly lit by a single light bulb on a chain that flickered in and out, and really only illuminated a patch of floor well. It was made out of cracked, dried concrete, with a dirty and rusted metal floor, and a wide elevator door made out of a dark metal on the opposite side of the room. There was a red dot in the corner of the room near the roof – probably a camera. I couldn’t see a machine gun.

We all filed into that room, awkwardly shuffling around and some talking about “Where are we?” and “What’s going on?”, with most being too scared to talk. I mumbled a little “Oh, fuck this, they’re going to pump gas into the vents now or some shit.”, mostly to myself. I don’t think anyone heard me, and I didn’t want them to. If anyone did, there might be a panic or something.

“Well, we’re all here. I’ll open the elevator.” As soon as the intercom fizzled out, the elevator doors slowly slid open with an old fashioned _ding_ coming from it, revealing an old, completely unsafe-looking elevator interior, mostly made out of a rusted dark metal with chain-link surrounding the inside, a mesh floor, and a surprisingly clean mirror in the back, all lit by another, brighter bulb. We all cautiously walked onto the elevator, some needing verbal support that it was safe to enter, and the doors suddenly crashed shut, faster than elevator doors should, and I could feel the room slowly sink downwards at a fucking glacial pace.

While we were in there, I started thinking about Malcolm, who killed him, why they wrote ‘KILLER’ into his chest…apparently, a lot of people thought I did it? That was complete bullshit. Rebecca? There was one person who said he heard her yell at Malcolm, but I really don’t know if I could trust the Grandmaster in the first place. Nancy said she heard somebody yelling at him too, but she wasn’t able to tell who. There was a possibility that Samson traded his knife for a frying pan, but I didn’t know if that was true or not, but if it was than the killer could’ve been a woman. But there was always the chance that the killer just used Malcolm's knife, if he had it on him. And what was up with that bleached cloth? It was all so…it was just a big fucking mystery. And yet we were supposed to solve it.

The elevator came to a stop, and with a probably sarcastic ‘ding’, the doors opened to reveal a brightly lit circular (angular?) room with concrete walls, covered in different multicolored wires and cables, with another circular set of desks or something like that in the middle. There were cameras set up, hanging from the ceilings, with only one light machine gun set up in the middle. I noticed that there different walls had impressions in them, like doors, or false walls. I walked into the room, the first one to leave the elevator, and tried to investigate the area further. The desks were more like podiums, 15 of them, as tall as my waist, with screens in the flat part at the top and little plaques with our names on them. I located the one with JACK GUERRERO pretty easily, right in between NANCY MARIGOLD and FRANKLIN MASON, and right across from a spot that was currently occupied by a box T.V., a bit cracked, with the cracks somehow filled in with a blood-colored liquid that I really wanted to hope _wasn’t_ blood. The screen was flashing of pictures of someone, Malcolm, smiling, holding up smartphones at keynotes, pointing a finger while flashing another smile, in-between shots of silent static like that pilot episode Mr. Producer showed to us last night.

Speaking of which, there was an empty space in the ring of podiums on the opposite side of the elevator doors. Beyond that was a high column, like where a judge would sit, and in it was Mr. Producer, sitting like a statue with his arms in front of him and slightly leaning forward. There wasn’t any motion, no breathing, no slight difference of brightness in his tie, just…nothing.

Everyone was already in their positions at their podiums when Mr. Producer started talking, but instead of coming from a speaker somewhere on his body like it usually did, it came over the P.A. system. The body didn’t even move. “Awesome, awesome, everyone’s ready. So, we’re going to conduct a House Trial now. It’s pretty much a verbal free-for-all. Just try to sort it out yourselves and I’ll only interject when necessary. That good? Then go at it!”

Silence. Somebody coughed. Gordon adjusted his t-shirt and leaned forward on his podium. “Well, I know that a lot of people haven’t seen the corpse, so I’ll just start describing it, alright? Uh, Malcolm Cole was discovered by Jack Guerrero in the early morning, possibly around 5:30 a.m. Malcolm was duct taped down to a chair recovered from the dining room, where a tied white cloth was placed around his mouth and directly under his nostrils,  approx. 27 nails were placed both into his right and left hands, and the word ‘KILLER’ was carved into his skin through his t-shirt, with a knife around two inches long…” He sighed, leaned back awkwardly, and scratched his neck. “That’s all I can remember. Anyone have anything else?”

Rebecca crossed her arms and adjusted her glasses, accidentally making the lenses completely be filled with glare from the fluorescent lights. “According to Jack, the only knives we have that length are the pocket knives all the boys got.” She eyed every male in the room, and when the gaze fell on Samson he put up his hands.

“Well, you know that I traded my knife for a frying pan early yesterday, so y’all can count me out.”

“To whom, Samson?” Westin asked, smoothly.

“I…uh…Well, you see, I swore to God that I wouldn’t, and I’m really not the kind to break that sort of-“

Everyone just immediately broke out into a chorus made of different voices at different times, yelling “WHO?!” and “Tell us!”

“Now, now, I mean…it’s just a personal thing, much as that disappoints…”

J.J. narrowed her eyes and leaned forward crossing her arms. “Samson, you need to tell us. **Now.** ”

“I am _not_ about to break something I promised God, alright? It’s against so many things that I can’t even begin to say ‘em."

There was more clamor. Nancy tried to speak up over the out-of-tune chorus, to little success. “Uh, hey, everyone…” The rest of the house was too busy yelling at Samson to “Tell us!”, a few “This is important!”, and one “It’s his right.” coming from Sophia. Nancy’s cries for attention were falling on deaf ears, and I was completely unable to take it any longer.

I slammed my fists on the podium, maybe I was too angry, I don’t know, at least I was yelling loud enough so that everyone was able to hear. “Everyone just fucking SHUT UP and listen!”

Everyone turned towards me, expecting some sort of brilliant explanation, but instead I stood still and looked towards Nancy.

“Well, I, uh, I really do think Sam’s right not to tell, but I…uh, I think whoever did it was a girl, ‘cuz I, uh, I heard a girl yellin’ at Malcolm last night…I think it was J.J. or Sophia or Rebecc-”

“Yeah, ‘bout that...” Edwin chuckled to himself, arms crossed in confidence but avoiding everyone’s face. “So, last night, I was tryin’ to get some sleep, and I overheard miss Rebecca arguin’ with none other than our resident corpse…”

I glanced over at Rebecca, just to see her use her angry tone of voice while her eyes were wide open. “That **didn’t happen.** ”

“Then why are there two people sayin’ you did, eh?” Another laugh.

Sophia offered her opinion. “You really are looking suspicious.” One or two others agreed.

“Listen - where were you in your room?” Rebecca had her eyes narrowed now, still leaned over her podium like she was about to pounce on Edwin.

“In my bed, duh.”

Dianna piped in. “Aren’t the rooms soundproofed?”

“Apparently,” Sarah confirmed. “I’ve been playing my guitar until I felt tired every night, and I have insomnia, so that’s a long time. Nobody’s complained.”

Nancy spoke up again. “The, uh, the only reason I could hear the girl was ‘cuz my door was open.”

“Yeah…yeah, well, so was…” Edwin grumbled the last part of his sentence and wringed his hands. “Whatever, fuck this.”

Caroline coughed. “Well, now we know that…we should try to narrow our search a little bit. So there’s the possibility that our killer was a young woman, and the only person exempt from the list of suspects is Samson, so far. And our biggest suspects as of now are Rebecca , who has revealed that she has a…violent side…” I glanced over at Rebecca, who was doing that weird glasses-glare thing again, arms crossed. “Edwin, who might have committed the murder to frame someone...”

“Helluva stretch, I gotta say.” Edwin said, and Russell agreed.

“Uh, yes, there is also Jack, who was the first to be at the scene of the crime _and_ had blood covering his shirt…”

“From a fucking nosebleed.”

“J.J., who was the first to notice the chair last night but didn’t tell anyone.”

“I thought it wasn’t anythin’ really important. Why does that make me a suspect?”

Caroline continued, ignoring all the questions. “And Nancy said that either Rebecca, J.J., Sophia, or Sarah were arguing with Malcolm last night.”

Sarah seemed shocked, and glanced at Nancy with confusion. “Sarah? What does Sarah have to do with this?”

Sophia leaned forward with her hands on her podium. “So that’s two strikes for J.J. and Rebecca, right?” Honestly, she seemed a bit too excited.

“There’s no….really no evidence for those two, other than a possible argument that might’ve happened…the only things we have to go for on Rebecca and J.J. is something that’s only happened once and a memory…plus, none of them would have to carve ‘KILLER’ into Malcolm’s chest…” Franklin eased out, pausing a lot, as if he was forming the thoughts as soon as they were spoken. Rebecca nodded slowly in agreement.

“What evidence _do_ we have?” Dianna asked solemnly. “Is this whole case just hopeless? Do we just have to ‘remove’ one of us randomly?” As soon as she spoke those last few words she started rubbing her eyes.

I sighed. “Dianna, just...don’t worry. Here, look…” I dug into my back pocket and grabbed the balled-up white cloth, presenting it to everyone. “This was wrapped around Malcolm’s mouth. It’s bleached to all hell, so it wasn’t originally white. Plus, you can use bleach to knock someone out, apparently.”

“How do you know it was bleached?” Russell asked, crossing his way-too-big arms. “It might just be a napkin or something.”

Sophia hesitantly agreed. “That’s possible, right?” It was starting to get a bit weird that she tried to help any argument that came up, but whatever.

Sarah shook her head. “No, because it fucking stinks like bleach, and it’s way too thin to be a napkin, and we found a puddle of bleach in the store room, and some of it was missing from the bottle, so yeah, it was bleached.”

Franklin smiled. “So…it was originally a piece of cloth someone brought with them...”

“Well, uh,” Russell rolled his eyes. “I don’t have one.”

The rest of the circle erupted into another chorus of “Neither do I!” “I don’t!” and someone mentioned that “Nobody does!” People agreed with that.

No. That wasn’t right. Memories from the past two days flashed in my brain, articles from the past summer were scrolling in my brain.

_…wears a red bandanna around her right arm as…_

“You’re wrong!” I slammed one of my fists on the podium again, baring my teeth, probably coming off as way to fucking angry but I had just realized that whoever said that was trying to fucking _get away with murder,_ and I scanned the 14 of us, trying to find out who said that in the first place.

Sophia Pineada.

“Why the fuck are you trying to say that, huh? What’s on your arm?” I looked over and saw absolutely nothing covering her slender upper arm, just a small, almost invisible, round scar.

“W-what…I have no idea what you’re talking about…” She shrugged, smiling unusually, like she completely forgot how.

“You had a bandanna around that scar, right? You always told people that it was to remind you of the time you were shot, right? Where is it?!”

Sophia’s eyes were darting around and some of the color was flushing from her face. I had no idea what she was thinking. Why is she trying to hide it?

“Sophia…” Dianna’s voice was wavering, almost on the verge of breaking, maybe from sadness, maybe from fear. “You d-did have one of those bandannas on you all the time…”

“I…” Sophia felt the area around her scar for a little bit, before looking defeated and reaching into her sweatpants and pulling out a red piece of fabric, holding it like a small animal. “It fell off in the elevator and I didn’t have time to put it back on, okay?”

“I don’t understand why you were trying to hide it.” Caroline sighed.

“It really does put you in a bad spot, Sophie…” Westin agreed.

I thought for a second, then put out my hand. “Sophia, give it here.”

She looked at me like I was crazy, holding the bandanna close to her chest. “Why?”

Rebecca sighed into her hand. “Just. Give. Him. It.”

Sophia glanced between me and the red piece of cloth she had in a fucking death grip, before sighing heavily and passing it to the person on her right, Westin, who passed it to Dianna, who passed it down the line to me, and I looked at it closely. It was a deep red color, with fancy designs in white around the border. The other cloth was pure white and still kind of damp, and in some places felt like liquid had dried on the outside of it, but they still felt like they were mostly the same fabric.

“Well?” Gordon sounded impatient. “What’s the verdict?”

“Gimme a second.” I put the white cloth over the bandanna, and help them both up by the corners up to the lights.

Perfect match.

“I-I have a lot of those things! Someone must’ve swiped that one from my room or-or something and bleached it!” Sophia stammered, leaning over her podium.

Samson raised an eyebrow. “Well, nobody said it was yours.”

“B-but, I mean, like, not that it is, just, like, it’s…” She kept stumbling through her words, feeling the back of her neck, shrugging and avoiding eye contact, before leaning over her podium in anger. “I mean, I know I look really bad right now, but what’s my motive, huh? I didn’t have any beef with Malcolm, not enough to kill him like…like _that!_ ”

Caroline pushed up her glasses and spoke with a confidence that I wasn’t used to from her. Usually, it was just a dry monotone. “Of course you didn’t. You didn’t hate him as a _person_ , you hated him as a _corporation_. You knew about DiamaWare’s practices, the purchasing of cheap processors, cases, and assorted parts from laborers in developing countries-“

“What’re you talking about?!”

“The logging that went underway to make room for the DiamaWare factories-“

Sophia completely forgot about her last statement. “How did you know about that?!”

Caroline smiled. “There is a lot published on the Internet, Ms. Pineada, and I happened to have a desire to learn _everything_ about the people admitted to Columbia National Academy., and thanks to that, I also know that logging and non-free trade practices are causes you feel _very_ strongly about, aren’t they? Enough to atone for the lives lost in sweatshops and forests and brand Malcolm as a killer?” The tone of her voice, her confident posture…it was almost scary.

Sophia did a little bit of a nervous laugh, though she wasn’t smiling. In fact, most of her face was in shock – her pupils were tiny, and most of the color was gone from her face. “T-that’s true, but…I mean – you really think an airhead from Cali could do something like this? I’m…” Her gaze fell on me. _Shit_. “I’m not like Jack fuckin’ Guerrero, the guy who gets off on defying death every month, who maybe wanted to take someone else’s life just for the fuckin’ thrill of it,  the guy who we found right next to the fuckin' body and was bleeding from his nose, right?! How hard is it to use his own pocket knife to cut his nose after he used it to cut up Malcolm?” She started laughing triumphantly, as if those little things could sway everyone's vote.

Everyone’s gaze fell on me, and I did the wrong thing by thinking in the moment and starting shouting. “What the fuck? We all know you fucking did it, you-“

“Shut up! Stop trying to redirect the blame here! You’re the most incriminating out of all of us!”

“Then why didn’t I have the hammer and nails and duct tape with me when I passed out?”

“Because Malcolm’s I.D. and his knife was missing, so that means you used his knife to carve him up and took your tools back to his room and hid them-“ Sophia’s eyes went mostly white again, and her hand shot up to cover her mouth. I didn’t understand why she did it, but then it hit me.

After a silence, maybe from shock, someone spoke up. “Gordon, did Sophia come see you again after she saw us working on the body the first time?” Rebecca asked.

Gordon thought a little bit, and then smiled slyly, showing off a little bit too much teeth, speaking in a smooth, almost criminal voice. “Nope, just the one time. Then Westin, then Edwin.”

“How’d you know about the missing I.D., huh?”

“I…someone…” Sophia just kept that pose of shock, not blinking, almost frozen. "We were...we were just talking about it in the - the trial a moment ago...

Westin sighed. "We weren't."

“Someone could have told her about that, right?” J.J. asked.

Gordon shook his head, still smiling weirdly. “I didn’t tell Westin, and I don’t think Edwin told anyone, either.”

Edwin smiled. “Just Jack.”

Westin smiled, a bit apologetically. "I kept it to myself..." It sounded like he was about to say something else, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I-I mean, I-” Sophia attempted to say something, before choking on her words.

“Sophia…” Franklin was speaking in that weird pausing-a-lot way of talking that he happened to do a lot. “She…she was loitering around the second floor of the mansion a lot…heh, the only people up there were her and I…”

“Shutupshutup SHUT UP!” Sophia was on the verge of freaking out, holding her head up with her hands like it was going to fall apart, glancing around the room, teeth clenched, before sighing and composing herself. “If you’re so sure I did it, then how, huh?! I’m too dumb to pull something like that off! Trust me!”

Rebecca put her weight onto the podium, leaning forward, eye twitching. “ **You** started getting ideas about Malcolm, the person you’ve always wanted to make pay for his ‘sins’. **You** bleached one of your bandannas so people couldn’t tell it was one of yours and to knock him out. **You** went into the storeroom before it closed at 10 p.m. to grab your tools, hammer, duct tape, nails, and you managed to find a pocket knife.”

Sophia started pleading. “I mean – look, just shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 “ **You** dragged Malcolm’s chair out while the rest of the house was in bed or watching some stupid movie. **You** started arguing with Malcolm and assaulted him to incapacitate him with the cloth. Then **you** maimed him to all hell and hid your tools in his room while **you** left him to bleed to death!”

“I didn’t! Shut up! Just shut your fucking mouth!” Sophia was clutching the edge of her podium, teeth clenched together, with a few tears streaking down her cheeks.

 Rebecca banged her fist on the podium like it was a gavel, her voice louder than it has ever been. **“SOPHIA PINEADA, YOU killed Malcolm Cole!”**

Sophia moved her hand to her cheek, wiping tears from her face and keeping her eyes closed. “I…I don’t…” There was a short, choking sound, and she apparently couldn’t cry any more, and everyone stayed silent for about a minute.

“Well, that’s a hell of an ending!” Mr. Producer’s voice came over the P.A. system again, and there was a synthesized laugh. “Well, now we’ll choose who did actually did this heinous crime! Just vote on your touch-screens, and we’ll remove that person from the game. If you get it wrong, the person who did it will go free, but you won’t know until tomorrow. Good luck!”

The screen on the podium switched on, with a five by three grid of square portraits of everyone in the house filling the large screen. I instinctively touched my finger on a random square, my face, and it filled the screen with the picture, which I now realized was taken at my first Triple Gold Games appearance more than two years ago, along with my name and two buttons; ‘YES’ and ‘NO’. Of course, I pressed ‘NO’ and fixed my mistake by selecting the killer from the list and hitting ‘YES’.

A minute passed, filled with electronic beeping as everyone, including Sophia, put in their votes.

“Alright, the results are in! Let’s see who’s getting voted off the island!” The screen flashed static before turning black completely.

 “Well, according to you all, the murderer is…” The lights switched off, and a spotlight noisily switched on and started whirling around, shining a bright light on everyone as a loud drumroll played in the distance, before stopping on Sophia Pineada, who had her eyes closed but could clearly tell that she was selected. “ **The hippie!** Heh, any last words, you _criminal_?”

Sophia bowed her head, before nervously laughing like a crazy person. “You know what?! Yeah! I fucking did it!” Her eyes were way open, pupils small, and she was smiling like the world’s biggest load was taken off of her shoulders, multiplied by fifteen. “I killed that evil bastard! And you know what else?! I firebombed a fucking testing lab two months ago!” She was laughing more, her eyelid was twitching – she was really coming unhinged, and I was fucking _terrified._ “I throw real animal blood on those fur-wearing _freaks_! I cut dogs off their leashes! I bomb logging equipment for fucking fun! And they all – all of those fucking assholes – they all fucking deserved it! I’m one of the most powerful girls in America, and I’m going to make sure all of those fuckers get what they fucking deserve!” She was holding her head as she laughed, like it was about to fucking come off, and I was suddenly wondering how much longer until she got ‘removed’, for the sake of everyone here. “I…I…” She said, as her situation was slowly dawning on her. “What’s-why did I tell you…oh God, what’s going to happen to me now?”

“Well, let’s answer that question right now.”  Mr. Producer chimed in, and the false wall I had noticed earlier behind Sophia opened up with a loud _shunk_ , revealing absolute darkness, when a large hydraulic claw, made out of a rusty brown metal with the grabbers being steel, with wires, canisters, and tubes covering a bulky, jointed arm, came slowly and noisily out from it. Sophia looked behind her just in time to see it grab her torso hard, and it looked like it fucking _hurt._

“What the – let me go! Get this piece of shit thing offa me!” Sophia started banging her fists against it, trying to pry it off of her body, grunting and panting. “Let go! Fuck you, let GO!” It didn’t listen as it pulled her literally kicking and screaming into the darkness, and before the door closed I could hear a loud, pained scream.

“Now, if you’ll just bear with me for a second, I’ll get the execution started.”

“Execution? You’re gonna…” Dianna was aghast, and put her hands over her mouth. “You’re going to _kill_ her?!”

“Even better, you all get to watch it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long read this time, but I really couldn't find a good place to divide this chapter. Expect the next trials to possibly be made into multiple chapters to avoid having ~9 pages of text.   
> Next up is my favorite bit in any DanganRonpa game - the execution! They're actually what got me into the series in the first place., and I love them so much that I might even throw up bonus chapters later on in the descriptions of the last parts of Episodes to show different people's executions and what goes on behind the scenes of the show.


	16. Clearcut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone loses the game.

“NO!” Dianna was crying, shaking, understandably freaking out after learning that we would fucking _have to watch someone get killed_. I was standing in shock, fading in and out of asking myself questions in my head, and sometimes just getting a feeling of distress hanging over my head like a fucking cloud. “You can’t kill Sophia! Just keep her locked up or-or something! Just don’t… _kill her_!”

“I’m sorry, blondie, but I have to enforce the rules – I mean, I made them and everything! So just shut up and accept that the hippie is going away forever, and you’re going to have to witness it.”

“I…no! Don’t! Just…” Dianna just stopped talking and kept softly sobbing, rocking her body back and forth.

I could hear some people talking, yelling, pleading not to make them watch it, but I was asking myself _how are they going to do it? Lethal injection? Beheading?  Hanging? Is it going to be gory? Oh God, I can’t do gory. I hope it’s instant. Will she suffer? Do I want her to suffer?_ I didn’t notice that I was staring off into the distance, mouth slightly open, held up in my own thoughts, and I barely noticed that a medium-sized circle in the floor in front of me, in the middle of all the podiums, was slowly receding, revealing a circular staircase under it, wide enough to let two people side-by-side down it. 

“If you would kindly enter down into the stadium so we can get this show on the road, that would be fucking grand.” Mr. Producer said, over the intercom again, his form not moving. It never moved through the entire trial.

I was the first one to exit my podium space and go down into the ‘stadium’, walking down the black metal spiral staircase, hoping that it didn’t give way. I really just wanted to get it over with – I wasn’t sure if I was happy that Sophia was getting ‘removed’, or if I was scared about having to fucking watch someone die or what, I just knew I wanted this damn day over with. I just wanted to fucking get rescued, though I knew that was never going to happen. I just wanted everyone to chill the fuck out, though I wasn’t exactly following my own wish myself.

The ‘stadium’ was anything but – it was a red-painted room, lit by with three rows of five velvet seats, built on an incline, with big arm rests, facing a large opening, beyond it was just a void of darkness, not lit up or anything. On the left, right, and middle of the room, attached to the ceiling, were flat-screen T.V. sets, currently broadcasting – what fucking else? Static. I thought about grabbing a seat in front, but then realized that would literally put me closer to whatever the fuck was going to happen, so I sat in the middle on the last row. Everyone else sat in a random spot, and I really felt sorry for the few who were sitting in the front - all three of them, since two seats were empty.

As soon as everyone was sitting down, there was a metallic _shunk_ , and I felt something cold, metallic, and hard around my wrists. I looked down and saw, of fucking course, big metal restraints on the top of my leather jacket. Shitshitshitshit _shit_. I tried to look away but the first thing I saw was Dianna, in the seat next to me, crying, teeth clenched.

“Get them off!” She was recoiling away from the clamps, sitting up in her seat, trying to somehow break them off. “No, I-I can’t watch someone die! NO! Let me go! Oh, God, let me go! Just get them off!” She kept repeating that in different variations while she was shaking, breathing fast, tears streaking down her cheeks – she having an actual, literal fucking panic attack.

“Dianna, just…listen to me” Caroline tried addressing the journalist as best she could from the row in front of us. “Deep breaths. Close your eyes. Relax your body. You’re not in any danger. You are _not_ in any danger.” She sounded like she was reading off of a list in her usual monotone, slightly more exasperated than normal, and Dianna was slowly returning to her sitting position, though she was still crying hard. I really just wanted to hug her until she stopped.

There was murmuring. I hated murmuring. Some crying. Crying was okay, it’s a given in this sort of situation. I think I was the only person noticing that the lights were slowly dimming, but everyone noticed and promptly shut the fuck up when the T.V.s came on with a shot of static.

Beyond the window things, there was the sound of spotlights clicking on, illuminating…something. A long, large pole –no, it was some sort of…tree. It was probably 45 feet tall, with an irregular sphere of leaves taking up some of the top – I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it before – and near the leaves was something attached to the tree by some sort of grey band or wire. It was around fifty feet away from us, slightly to the right of the window, and beyond it was just darkness, but the spotlights illuminated some Drones flying around, capturing the area and the tree, which were suddenly transmitted to the T.V.s, and replacing the disturbing static. (I guess. Not that it actually disturbed me or anything...I mean, maybe a little bit.)

Sophia was chained to the top of the tree, arms tied behind her back, still dressed in her P.J.s, squirming against the apparent tightness of the metal chains, grunting and quietly gasping for air, the sound of it was apparently captured by the drones. She was still crying, but less, from what I could see from a disturbing clos-up of her face, and her face was more determined and angry than sad or depressed.

The Drone broadcasting to the T.V. in the middle swirled down and captured Mr. Producer slowly and smoothly walking out of the darkness on the opposite side of the tree, carrying in his hands the biggest chainsaw I had ever seen, about a fucking foot wide and several feet long, with a huge motor, fucking exhausts, and an oversized fuel tank, and yet he was carrying the thing effortlessly. I was still confused as to how he was going to use it.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” His voice came over the intercom of the room, still freaking me out. The Drone captured him pulling the ripcord of the chainsaw, starting a motor so loud that I was able to hear it from where we were, and Sophia’s eyes went wide from the sound of it, darting her pupils around, trying to find out where it was coming from- holy shit, she didn’t even know what was going to happen.

Mr. Producer forced the side of the chainsaw into the tree, causing woodchips and sawdust to fly everywhere, some of it hitting the Drone that was filming, and there was a close-up of Sophia’s face was vibrating, her teeth clenched, and her eyes were still trying to look behind the tree, struggling with the chains like they would give way just from her sheer will, and by the time I looked back at the camera focused on Mr. Prodcer, the chainsaw was already damn deep in the tree, there was already a few decently sized piles of wood splinters on the concrete ground, exhaust from the chainsaw was rising in pillars, Mr. Producer’s black form was getting more dusty and dirty with the woodchips bouncing off it, and when I focused on the tree through the window and back to the T.V. showing the progress of the chainsaw he was halfway through it, Sophia was fucking writhing, banging her head on the back of the tree and I swear to God there was blood dripping down her blonde hair, her bare feet kicking, her teeth clenched and her face twisted like the chains were tightening every time she struggled, and by the time I focused on the shot of the chainsaw on the tree it was almost done, just five or six inches away from being finished and I fucking had to close my eyes because I didn’t want to see fucking anything.

But I wasn’t able to keep myself from hearing it.

There was a loud crack, the sound of wood creaking which suddenly got faster and faster, leaves whooshing through the air, the worst fucking scream I have ever heard, one filled with terror and one that desperately tried to reach out to fucking anyone that could help, and a completely sickening and disgusting sound of bone crunching and breaking when it hit something hard really fast, and the people around me were screaming, crying, gasping.

I had to look. The tree was large enough that it more than covered her body, so no loose legs were sticking out, and I had the fleeting hope that she somehow didn’t die, that the tree had some sort of secret compartment, but then I noticed that it looked like all of the fucking blood in her body was slammed out of her and ejected in streaks and trails from the tree, apparently all at once, a small pool on the concrete under the tre, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it until the T.V.s shut off, the spotlights illuminating the tree went dark,  the lights in the room came back on, and the restrains went back into the chairs.

Sophia Pineada, the person who we had thought killed Malcolm, was literally fucking crushed to death right in front of our fucking eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's our first execution over with. Like I've said in previous chapter notes, I adore the executions in the DanganRonpa series, (minus SDR2, from what I've seen they're pretty weak.) and the primary reason I actually started this fic was just to exercise my imagination and see what kind of stuff I could come up with, with some other reasons falling into place after I had drafted up the first few characters and their punishments.  
> Also, since I have your attention, I should probably clarify that I didn't intend this chapter to be some sort of 'soapbox' for me. Yes, it's an incredibly political chapter with some incredibly political characters and motivations, but honestly the reason they're like that is just because 'I thought it was interesting and ran with it'. I'd probably end up with the killer on the political spectrum on most of the accounts they brought up, except for the extremes they professed to believing in. It's entirely possible that they come off as someone made of straw, so to speak, but I based them off of those people who go to extremes already, so I don't think that they came off as a caricature or anything, but that's just my opinion, and as the writer I'm probably a bit skewed in my opinions. I am a bit curious to see what people think in regards to the killer's character, just to see where I can improve on in my future writing endeavors.  
> Wow, I wrote a lot more than I thought I did about that! I probably won't do that for a while, or maybe never again!


	17. Winddown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack tries to come to terms with everything with a high chance of failure.

_Sophia was killed right in front of my fucking eyes and I had to hear her bones crunch and I saw her blood and_

 “Holy shit…holy _shit_ …” Edwin muttered to himself, grabbing at his hair, followed by a long string of “fuck”s.

  _Her blood all of her blood just shot out and her body is broken and crunched in a million different places and_

“I – I…oh my God…” Franklin said, like the weight of the entire situation suddenly came crashing down on him.

_she was dead she was absolutely fucking dead and we put her to death we did this she was dead because of us and_

 “Is it…is it over?” Nancy asked, meekly, I guessed she had closed her eyes, too.

_did she deserve it I don’t know maybe she confessed because of stress what if someone goes free tomorrow what if we really fucking fucked up_

“Yes, it’s over, you can open your eyes, now.” Westin said, his voice unchanging from his normal tone. Maybe it was supposed to reassure the others? I don’t fucking know.

 “I don’t want to…I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to…” Dianna kept repeating, shaking her head.

I went against all of my old feelings, and grabbed Dianna’s hand, smiling even though she couldn’t see it. “Just follow me, alright?” I tried using my nicest voice, which was hard to keep up since I was still really fucking shaken up by what I just saw and heard. Christ, I would never be able to get any of that out of my fucking head – the sight of her blood – literally _all of her fucking blood –_ surrounding her in streaks, and her face right before the tree fell – a look of pure determination and fear of what was happening – but…I had to help Dianna. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was a sexist reason? I mean, she was a woman in help and I was a guy, and my mom always ranted about that kind of stuff, but I couldn’t worry about it right now.

Dianna nodded and I stood up, guiding her up as gently as I could, she clutched on to me for dear life like a child clinging to their parents inside an amusement park haunted house, and we slowly walked over to the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. I glanced over and saw that Nancy, with her eyes still closed, was being led by Sarah, and Samson was guiding himself by feeling the wall.

We went up the stairs, two at a time, and exited the trial room, (Courtroom? Whatever.) loitering around for a little bit until we managed to remember the elevator in the far end of the room, which opened again after we all went near it.

Dianna had already opened her eyes, but she was still clutching my jacket, frantically looking around at the people surrounding her. Everyone was in a different stage of shock, whether it was crying softly, holding their heads in their hands like they were still processing to terms with everything, just staring at nothing with wide eyes, or whatever the fuck else they were doing.

The elevator slowly lurched upwards, making noises that worried me.

I honestly just wanted to sit down in the elevator and just…not move any more. Maybe…die? No. I didn’t want to die – I wanted to…just not be a part of the world anymore. Not be a part of something that produced a literal fucking terrorist like Sohpia, someone who killed another person – Malcolm – just over stupid political arguments. I just didn’t…shit, I really just didn’t fucking know.

The elevator finally came to a stop at that dark, concrete room, with the bulb still flickering and barely being powered, and we all rushed out of it and out of the door, trying not to spend a lot of time there out of fear of what was beyond the light, and as soon as we entered the hallway, the rusty metal door behind us noisily locked, with a lot of clicking, sliding, and whirring sounds, before finally clamping shut.

“What…what do we do now?” Asked Gordon, rubbing his back, looking down.

“I…uh, well, I believe we could have a meeting in the dining room…” Caroline suggested, voice low and unsure. “It would be good to help people get their…feelings off of their chest, so to speak…,” She was stumbling through her words, hugging her arms close to her chest, avoiding eye contact. “But, uh, if you’d like, you’re free to return to your rooms or do anything else to get your mind off of…what just happened.”

We all agreed to the plan. Or, at least I did, since talking apparently helped me focus my mind on something else.

We all entered the dining room silently, sitting in our chairs that we’ve sat in before, trying not to notice that one of the seats would now be permanently empty, and one of the chairs was missing, and we were never going to get it back.

I was doing better than most, I guess. I didn’t actually see her get killed, but Jesus fucking Christ did I hear it. Sophia’s bones crunching, the tree splintering, her screaming…shit, I’d never be able to get that out of my head. The cracking, that damn scream that pierced my fucking head like a drill, the sight of all of her blood, _all_ of her fucking blood, just fucking ejected out of her body like slamming your fist down on a sponge filled with water…

I was just…this was actually fucking happening. Someone – Sophia killed Malcolm. She _killed_ someone. And then she confessed to being a fucking terrorist and wanting to kill – fucking _kill_ – him from day fucking one. And I had a sinking feeling that this is just the beginning. Tomorrow there would be two more corpses, then two more the next day and the day after that and I had a horrible, inescapable thought, something that completely took over my brain, that I would be one of them.

I’m going to die in here.

Rebecca started talking but all I could see was her lips moving, no sound. I just kept thinking about one person, any-fucking-one at this table, would snap, and strangle me, slash my throat, disembowel me, beat me to death with their bare fucking hands, drown me, throw a pot of boiling water at my face, fucking _light me on fire_ …I just –

Caroline cleared her throat, making me momentarily stop thinking (thank god), and I jerked my head towards her.

She started with a long sigh, and she looked obviously dejected, and somewhat stressed - I had just noticed that her normally neat and braided platinum hair was flowing free from her head, straight except for a few loose strands, and she had a pair of incredibly tired eyes hiding behind her glasses. “I…well, this morning…it has certainly been a lot to bear for all of us.” Another sigh, and she looked away, apparently trying to gather her thoughts, before matching all of our gazes. “I, well, if you want to…I-I mean I’m not a licensed therapist, but I’m sure I could conduct private sessions with anyone who needs it.” She was running her hands through her loose hair, probably the most unprofessional body language I’ve seen from her so far, and her tone of voice made it clear she wasn’t sure about the last part.

Franklin was jittery, his fingers mildly twitching, and he was wearing a navy blue polo with a pair of grey pants. His glasses were slightly askew, on account of him moving them every few seconds. “I…heh, I do have some good news of a sort. The episodes are coming out the day after they’re filmed, I believe,” He said, a bit too fast. “The public will see what’s going on here tomorrow, and President Gerald will not stand for it, from what I’ve studied about him for a little….a little project of mine,” He laughed, nervously. “We will hopefully be rescued in three days, depending on how quick the FBI mobilizes, so our best bet is to just wait it out. There will _not_ be any more killings, there will _not_ be any more trauma like there was today. It is simply _not feasible_.” He wringed his hands a little bit, weirdly. “Uh, in addition, I’d like to get, uh…interviews with you all, if that’s okay, for another project that might turn into a film. I can…understand your concerns about me capitalizing on this…tragedy, but it most likely won’t go anywhere.” He scratched the back of his neck and tried to smile, horribly.

“I…guess I wouldn’t mind.” Rebecca groaned, leaning her head on her arm. One or two other people agreed.

Westin was grinning, of course. He was wearing a pair of fancy-looking black and yellow pajamas that probably cost more than some small cars. “That is an _excellent_ point, Franklin! We’ll be out soon, I promise! And it’s important to remember that we just need to keep our chins up! Today was…today was certainly brutal, and it may be hard to keep the sights we saw out of our head…I definitely won’t, especially that we lost two of the best people I’ll ever meet…but we need to stay positive! We’re all getting along, and the pressure may be on us, but as long as we keep a clear mind and a positive disposition, we can’t lose!” He was still as happy as ever, without a hint of depression in his voice.

“Yeah…that’s…” Sarah was grimacing, leaning back in her chair, and I noticed that Nancy was sitting right next to her instead of her normal place on the other end of the table, and in Sophia’s old chair. I hoped she didn’t notice. “That’s one way of thinking. But…I mean…” She glanced down at the Scout, and sighed. “Human beings are kinda…awful. I mean…we can act happy all we want, but…” She started to play with a bit of her red, messy hair, and shook her head. “We _might_ get rescued. But realistically, I, uh, I mean, someone’s going to go crazy in here, and we’re going to have to sit through another one of _those_. I don’t want to see any of you get killed again. Sophia’s death…her execution…it was….” She looked down again at Nancy, and just shook her head. “Just…I’m sorry, alright? But…no, forget it.” I really couldn’t disagree with her opinion.

“I guess…” I couldn’t stop myself from speaking out. “Shit, y’know, I just can’t…I just can’t stop fucking thinking that more people are going to…fuck. Look, I’ve been in real fucking risky situations, y’know? Like doing motocross in a really bad rainstorm, jumping off of a canyon, stuff like that, and this…it’s just too much for me.”

Nancy shook her head, wearing a look of depression. Like Caroline, her bright orange hair was undone and loose. “I, uh, don’t believe that, but…I don’t want to sit through, I – I mean…” She started rubbing her eyes, hopefully from tiredness. “I-I heard…someone died today, right…in front of me…” Her voice started wavering badly, and her normally happy Minnesotan accent made it seem all the more awful. “I d-don’t want that to happen…to see someone else…” Before she could finish her sentence, she just covered her face and put her arms on the table. Out of everyone here, she was probably the person who I wished was able to just leave.

Russell, wearing an a white muscle shirt and red plaid pajama pants, groaned loudly. “What the hell are all of you saying? Look, Sophia killed someone, alright? Malcolm’s gone because SOPHIA fucking _killed_ him! She deserved to die!” He was standing out of his chair, making his huge frame tower over all of us. “Why are you all only thinking we lost one person today? Didn’t you hear Gordon say how Sophia literally fucking cut him up and let him to bleed to death?! Look, I know she went in a horrible way, but stop trying to make her seem better than she is! She’s a killer, and she confessed to being a terrorist less than an hour ago!” He punctuated every sentence by banging on the table, and his eyes were fierce, wide, fucking _angry_.

“Now, listen, mister…” Samson said, standing up. He had on a regular white shirt and black pants with suspenders, and I noticed that despite the difference in muscle mass, they were about the same height. “She may be a killer. Nobody here doubts that. All we’re sayin’ is that she’s a human being deserving of mourning after her early passing!”

Russell eyed Samson, before shaking his head, causing his loose dreadlocks to bounce and shake with it. “She’s a _killer_.  She’s a _terrorist_ …” He eyed us all, narrowing his eyes, and reduced his grumbly voice to a low, anger-filled groan. “If any of you _ever_ do what she did, and I find out…” He stood up for a second more, making his message absolutely fucking clear, and he slowly sat down in his seat, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. Samson sat down and looked sheepish.

Gordon chuckled to himself. His calmness throughout this whole thing made it a bit easier to digest, but it mostly made him seem creepy. “I’m also gonna mention that I found out today that I’m pretty good at forensics, so I’ll be sure to pass any information I find onto Russell, here.”  Wait, seriously? That might as well be advocating murder. Shit, no way I could do it now.

“I mean…yeah, she did…deserve what happened,” J.J. frowned, eyes closed. She was wearing an orange tank top and sweatpants, her brown hair undone and flowing free, and she still looked half-asleep, or at least just completely done with today. “I just…look, Sophia killed Malcolm, and she just…there was no way we could’ve let her live after what she did. She didn’t have to d-die like that, but…damn, I don’t even know where I was goin’ with this…”

While I was looking at everyone, out of the corner of my eye I saw Dianna, sitting next to me like she was last morning, who had her face pressed against the table and had her arms wrapped around her head. I hoped she was sleeping, but then I faintly heard her keep murmuring “I saw someone die today….someone died today…Sophia died-she _died_ today-she died right in front of me…” to herself, whimpering, not crying. I guessed that she had used up all her tears already.

Edwin wasn’t doing much better. His glasses were folded up on the table, and he was looking up at the ceiling, staring at the chandelier above our heads like he was hoping it would blind him, and every few seconds he would wipe something from under his eyes. He leaned his head forward for a second, and I was able to see that he was crying a little bit, sniffling, as quiet as he could so nobody would notice, and when he saw I _had_ noticed, he shot me a dirty look, before he started leaning his head on his hands and shook his head.

Rebecca sighed, her glasses off and on the table in front of her, and she briefly rubbed her face and her eyes. “I personally…well…we’re all human beings, and…yes, we’re capable of terrible things, like Sarah said, but…you know what? I’ve worked with a  lot of people, helped them, and they helped me, and humans have compassion, they have reasoning, they’re actually pretty damn decent once you get to know them, so there’s a way we can prevent all this, we just have to act like, well, _humans_.” She looked upwards, before nodding to herself like she just realized she said a kinda cool thing.

“That’s an excellent view on things,” Said Westin. “We all should be trying to make this experience as pleasant as possible for everyone, and that, of course, means acting with compassion and respect.”

Sarah mumbled something under her breath along the lines of “Good fuckin’ luck.”, and I think everyone heard. At least I did.

“Well…we can always have more rules.” Russell suggested. “Buddy systems, more meetings, stuff to prevent something like this from happening.”

Caroline shook her head. “The reason why Sophia murdered Malcolm was due to convictions that Sophia already had. She came into this mansion – rather, the school, with a pre-existing hatred and, when she was given the opportunity to act on them, she did.”

Samson smiled. “We all seem to be…mostly getting along, right? As long as we’re respectful of everyone else, we should be fine until rescue comes.”

Yeah. “Mostly” was the key word there.

J.J. glanced at her I.D.. “It’s almost 8 A-M. What do you guys wanna do?”

Nancy rose her head a little bit. “There’s always those movies…”

“They have some good games, too. Board games, y’know?” Dianna seemed mostly recovered, though she still wasn’t smiling.

“Well, I guess it’s settled.” Gordon stretched his arms and stood up, still smiling that weird, back-alley drug dealer way, which really wasn’t that appropriate. A lot of people followed his lead. I wasn’t too keen on it, so I walked out of the dining room with everyone and started making my way against the crowd to the stairwell, but someone caught me by my jacket’s collar.

I was face to face by Rebecca, standing by the store room door. She was smiling warmly, not forced, glasses kept in her shirt pocket.

“Jack, I really just wanted to say I couldn’t have done what I did today without you. I think we make a great team, right?”

Team? I basically just did what you asked. “Uh, yeah, thanks.”

“I mean, I hope we won’t have to do this anymore, but…I think I know who to trust now.”

I guess. “Yeah, I guess I can count on you too.”

She smiled at me, and we shook hands. I kinda smiled to. She was…nice…but I don’t know, she could get really angry… I really just didn’t know.

She left to go to with everyone else, into the T.V. room, and only Edwin and I were going up to our dorms. Out of curiosity, we both decided to check the little basement area under the stairs, without saying to each other we were. Nothing was there. No blood, no corpse, no chair…nothing.

We both walked up to the dorms, not talking, and we both turned our backs on each other, since our rooms were on opposite sides of the hall. I heard his door open, and…nothing.

I turned my head, out of curiosity? Was he alright? Heart attack? I don’t fucking know what I was thinking. He was leaning against the inside of his door frame, supported by his arm, and he was…crying, though he was trying to block his face with his other hand. His body language, his sobs…it looked like everything that happened today was just coming crashing down on him.

“Yo, man, you alright?” I already knew the answer.

He turned to me, blazing eyes, teeth bared, tears still flowing from his ducts. “What the _fuck_ are you looking at, huh?!” His breathing became more heavy, and he turned towards me, fists balled up, poised like he was about to charge at me. “What, you just wanna be the nice guy, huh? Be the – be the fuckin’ hero, right? ‘You alright?’ You know what? FUCK YOU! You want to fuckin’ die, you cunt?! Just leave me the fuck alone for fucking once!” He flipped me off, still posed aggressively, walked back inside his dorm while eying me, and slammed the door loudly.

Samson’s words echoed in my head. _“We all seem to be…mostly getting along, right?_ ”

Fuck this.

I went into my dorm, closed the door carefully, and collapsed onto the bed. Fucking _finally_.

I lied there for a few minutes, waiting for a wave of relaxation to sweep over me. It didn’t happen. I just kept thinking about Malcolm, his fate, what it would be like to bleed to death, how painful it would be to have nails, those big fucking nails, piercing your skin, driven through your flesh, and someone carving something, words, gashes, whatever, into your fucking chest, but…he was knocked out with bleach, wasn’t he? He didn’t suffer. I hope he didn’t suffer.

And there was also Sophia. I didn’t know what to think of her…she killed Malcolm. She _killed_ someone out of pure hatred. She wanted him to suffer, and she made damn sure that he died in the worst way possible, but…she didn’t deserve to die like that. Crushed to death. Her bones – all of her bones – shattered, and all of her blood, literally all of her fucking blood…I just couldn’t get over her blood. I had never seen so much of it, and…I didn’t know if I wanted to. I hoped I would never have to. I couldn’t keep amateur diagrams of her broken skeleton and what her body must’ve looked like out of my head – crushed, broken, her face smashed, bloody, and flat…

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I fell asleep once or twice, and I thought about things, remembered that I had my phone, with all my songs and movies, in my luggage before also remembering that I had that in a dream I just had and my real phone was in my dorm back at Columbia National Academy, the one that I only saw fucking once and I was planned to share with America’s Best Teenage Motorist which would’ve been fucking sweet. Eventually I woke up and saw that it was 8 p.m., and also that my stomach was rumbling, so I staggered down to the storeroom, grabbed a handful of granola bars, a bag of pretzels, and a soda that I didn’t care enough to check what it was, and went back to my room, thankfully not running into anyone, ate my “dinner”, and finally passed out again on the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the first major plot point over with. Hope you enjoyed it! This was actually a lot of firsts for me in terms of writing, and I'll try to take the stuff I've learned into the future. Stay tuned for more characters breaking down, our first motive, somebody snapping, and hopefully minimal plot holes and typos!
> 
> Bonus Chapters (may contain possible "meta-plot*" spoilers)  
> Activism: http://pastebin.com/PmMcN3hB  
> .odd: http://pastebin.com/03BBt5eS
> 
> There's 2-3 more on the way, possibly being added this weekend. I might skip them since I'm not happy with how some of them are turning out but I did promise more than a few. If they do get added, they'll be added to earlier chapters where they happen chronologically*.
> 
> *God, do I hate using official terms for something that's anything but. However, those are pretty much the only terms that I can use, so...shit.


	18. Breaking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack possibly breaks the rules.

I was raised from my slumber by the sound of an annoying knocking at my door.

Fuck.

My first instinct was to ignore it, but I felt that that would make me an asshole, so I stumbled out of my bed, looked at myself in the mirror – I looked like shit, but whatever – put my I.D. and my knife in my pocket, , briefly thought about putting on my jacket before realizing that my shirt still had the blood stain on it, so I changed into a plain red one with an angular fire design on the bottom while shouting “WAIT A LITTLE BIT!”, not remembering the rooms were probably soundproofed, then going up to my door and leaning on the frame.

Rebecca, wearing her glasses and a tan sweater vest with a white undershirt and wrinkly pair of jeans, was staring at me, smiling, still about a head shorter than me, with Nancy standing behind her, still in her green pajamas, also smiling. This didn’t look good.

“What do you want?” I asked, rubbing my eye, trying not to yawn.

“We’re going investigating.”

“What?!” I asked, suddenly way fucking awake. “Someone’s dead?! Already?!”

“No, no no no no no, calm down,” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I found something, so need someone…uh, fearless, I guess.”

I looked down at Nancy. “Well, you already found someone, so I’m going back to bed.”

Nancy looked offended, her eyes wide and awake. “I’m just doin’ the lockpickin’!”

“Lockpicking?” I put my hand to my face and sighed. “What the fuck are you doing, Rebecca?”

“Just…come on, you’ll see,” Her voice was getting tense, so I knew not to fuck with her any longer, and she handed me a long, slender white can of something. I looked down and saw a six-pack of the same kinds of cans, with three missing, under her arm. “Here, this is so you’ll wake up.”

I looked at the can, reading the black label on it. ‘Energy Drink.’ Fine, whatever, I had a million in my life. I popped the top, drank a little bit, recognized the orange citrus and slightly acidic taste as Mountain Energy Rockies flavor, and stepped out of the room, closing the door. “Alright, so what are we doin’?”

“Here, follow me.” Rebecca addressed both of us, and we walked down the hallway, over to the other set of dorms. I could feel all of the realistic carved faces staring at me – though that was probably just the caffeine making me alert. I did notice that Malcolm's face had a nice big blood-colored X messily painted over it, and Sophia’s did, too. Classy, and a horrible reminder of yesterday.

We reached a door at the very end of the hall, on the right wall, and I noticed that there wasn’t any face on it – just a wood door.

“What’s this?” I asked, actually pretty damn interested. “Why didn’t I notice it earlier?”

“It blends in. I don’t think anyone did…” Rebecca answered. “Everyone’s concerned about their own dorms, nobody sees the one hiding in plain sight.”

“Huh.”

“I still don’t get it.” Nancy shrugged, can of energy drink in her hand. “It’s just kinda…weird. Maybe there was gonna be another person?”

“Maybe. I dunno.” I still really didn’t understand it. My mind was going through different solutions – maybe it was just a closet? Was there really going to be another person? Who would it be? Why? Why was any of this happening? I still had no fucking clue, and I don’t think I ever would.

“Jack…” Said Rebecca, somewhat whispering. “I need someone to be a Daredevil for me.”

“What? Oh, god damn it,” I knew exactly what she meant, and I walked over to the door, placing my hand around it, anticipating a shock and getting nothing, but it was definitely locked whenever I jiggled the handle. “You know, I only got that stupid title because I BASE jumped once. Fuck, why didn’t they let me be ‘Skater’?”

“Nancy, would you mind?” Rebecca gently gestured towards the door, and Nancy nodded, bringing out a box of hairpins she apparently brought with her, and she turned towards me.

“Can I borrow your knife?” She asked, smiling. I noticed that she was speaking faster than normal. I guess the caffeine was starting to get to her. I thought about giving her the knife for a while, remembering that she was a little bit more than half my size, and pulled it out. “Super!” She grabbed it from me without asking, and kneeled down in front of the door, using the knife and the bobby pin in an actually pretty damn clever way, one that I thought I’d seen in a movie before.

“How do you even know how to do that?” I asked, mildly curious. “I don’t think the Arbor Club gives lockpicking merit badges, do they?”

“No, but when you’re at a summer camp, you learn some super neat things from the counselors.”

“Wish I had gone to one of them, then.”

I stared at Nancy work on the door, her undone hair covering the rest of her body, and I heard a door open from behind us, and then…”What the fuck are you doing? Who’s room is that?”

“Nobody’s, Russell…” Rebecca sighed. “Look, there’s no face on the front of the door.”

“Still, what are you doing?” Russell crossed his arms, still in his tank top and pajama pants, staring at all of us like a disappointed dad.

“What are you doing? Why are you up?” I responded, a bit on edge.

He sighed. “I ain’t goin’ to the bathroom in the same area as a camera or whatever the fuck that mirror is. It doesn’t matter if there’s a door in between us, it can still pick up the splashes.”

“Wow, that was…gross.” I was a bit off put by it, to say the fucking least.

“Uh…anyway…” Rebecca gave Russell a white can. “I found out about this door before I went to bed yesterday. Nobody’s noticed it, and I’m having Nancy pick the lock of it so we can investigate it.”

“How does she know how to-“

“Summer camp! And I’m almost done! It’s a bit of a tricky one.”

“Uh, okay. I’m gonna head downstairs to the bathroom, then I guess I’ll stick with you guys.” Russell left, can of carbonation and caffeine still in his hand, and by the time he returned Nancy was still working on the door, and after a few more minutes of gentle tension, she finally turned the knob and pumped her fists up in the air.

“Well, is it open?” Russell went up to the door and turned the doorknob with his free hand, and the door creaked open slightly.

“So…uh…who’s goin’ in first?” Asked Nancy. I could feel the two girls eyes falling on me and Russell.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I walked forward, trying to look inside the crack. The lights in the hallway were dim, and I couldn’t see anything in the small light that bled through. I thought about going in for half a second, before deciding to just throw the door open and seeing if any more light shone through.

We could barely see anything, just a concrete floor behind the door. I took out my I.D. and tried using it as a makeshift flashlight, turning it on and shining the screen inside the room, which didn’t help all that much, so I stepped in a little bit. Russell followed behind me, doing the same. I briefly cried mentally for the loss of my phone and the flashlight app I had downloaded a few months ago. From what we could see, the room was mostly concrete. Russell was groping the wall, eventually finding a light switch, and flicking it on.

The room was bare concrete, with fluorescent lights unlike the lightbulbs our dorms had. There was a desk in the middle of the far wall, with a single chair next to it. The rightmost wall was covered in wires, and the left wall had a few hatches in the wall, including one that was door sized, and there was a single can of blood-colored paint in the corner. There were no security cameras, no guns, no anything. Nancy and Rebecca entered, cautiously.

“What the hell is this?” Grumbled Rebecca, holding the six-pack in one of her hands like a gauntlet.

“It’s like some sort of…what’s it called? Breaker room?” I suggested.

Russell tried opening one of the hatches, but it was held shut by some strong force. There wasn’t a lock on it or anything – it was like it was just welded shut or something.

“Look at this!” Nancy was at the table, still holding the knife, eying a sort of…monitor. Maybe computer? It looked like one of those fancy ones that was one big monitor with no tower, apparently. It was lying on the screen, and it looked like something big had crushed it – bits of glass, plastic, and metal were lying scattered around it and on top of it. Someone had banged it with something until it broke.

“They…they knew we were coming…” Rebecca was trembling a bit, and I had a feeling she was fighting the urge to throw the computer on the floor and start stomping on it – instead, she just placed her hands on either side of it, placing the drinks down for a second, and stared at the busted computer, then, suddenly, she swiped the monitor away with two hands, causing it to crash on the floor.

“Wait, no, Reb, it’s fine!” Russell rushed to Rebecca’s side, holding a massive hand to her back. “Look, just walk away. Nothing’s gonna come out of that.”

“I…just…” Rebecca spread her fingers across her face, barely supporting her head with her hands. “Forget it. This whole thing was a mistake.”

“No it wasn’t! We…uh…” Nancy stammered.

“No, look, we opened up an area that we weren’t even supposed to go to. Now we have to explain to everyone that there’s a mysterious breaker room, or whatever this is, on the first floor, with a broken computer and wires that could be cut, leading to God-knows-what happening…what if someone comes in here and stabs one of these things and cuts power to the rest of the house, huh? Then they could just kill us in our confusion.”

“So we don’t tell ‘em,” I suggested. “Keep the door closed, lock it if we can. Nobody’s gonna notice, nobody’s gonna care.”

“Well, we should at least tell them about the room, and say…say it locked behind us when we left.” Russell was still holding up Rebecca’s back, like an older brother or something.

“They won’t believe that,” She groaned, still trembling a bit. “Just…keep quiet about this whole night. Lock the door. Let’s just…fuck it, just go back to your bedrooms.”

Nancy shook her head quickly. “I already got one can of energy in me! I ain’t goin’ back t’ bed!”

“I mean, I’ve built up a resistance to Mountain over the years, but…I mean, I ain’t going to bed as long as one of us is still awake.” I agreed.

Russell checked his I.D. “It’s around 5 am. What do ya guys wanna do?”

I shrugged. “Lockpick more doors, maybe?”

Rebecca eyed me. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, man, not funny.” Russell apparently had a strong opinion on the matter. I couldn’t blame him, after I realized how my joke could’ve been taken badly.

“We could watch a movie!” Nancy was still smiling, eyes still wide. “We haven’t even made a dent in ‘em yet!”

“Yeah, but we’ve done that a lot… we always have a hard time picking which one to see, right? People have different tastes.”

“Shit, is that all there’s to do here?” I shook my head. “Can’t we…like…eat something?”

“Doors are locked for another hour or two, ain’t they?” Russell remembered. “So we just have to waste time until then.”

“You guys can do…whatever.” Rebecca was still silently fuming, eying the desk. “I’ll…I’ll come out in a second.”

I shrugged, then made my way out to leave. Nancy and Russell silently came out to.

Russell put his hand on the doorknob, before tilting his head in confusion, and started whispering. “Should we close it? What if it locks?”

“Yeah, and what if someone finds Rebecca alone in a room that nobody else knows about?” I countered. Though, too be honest, I did think Rebecca could defend herself, but some people did have knives, and some had blunt weapons, so I was a bit worried.

“She’ll be _fine_!” Soothed Nancy. “Nobody’s gonna wake up!”

“ _I can hear you_.” Mumbled Rebecca. “Just…just go downstairs. I’ll…be there in a few minutes.”

I looked inside the strange room one last time, shrugged, and went to the stairwell. The other two followed me.

Personally, I thought we should try to unlock more doors, see where that took us, but Nancy wanted to watch a movie like always, and Russell just didn’t care as long as it didn’t put anyone else in danger.

“Come on, do you really think whoever's behind this will show themselves with a gun or something? They're certainly trying to do a good job of covering their tracks...” I think I made a good point, but then I remembered something important, so I pulled my I.D. out and hit the 'Rules' button. “Remember? It says we're free to explore the mansion, so I think venturing into uncharted territory counts, right?”

Russell sighed. “You know what? Fine. Let's keep breaking into places where we shouldn't be. What's the harm? Other than the massive fucking guns hanging from every corner, right?” I eyed one of the machine guns as he said that, the big, black, metal frame barely visible in the dim light.

“I mean...I wouldn't mind pickin' locks, it's kinda fun.” Nancy said, kinda evil-y, but I don't think she noticed.

“So it's settled?” I clarified. “Alright, here, how about...the one at the bottom of the stairs?”

“No...I don't wanna go there.” She pleaded.

“Alright, fine….” I looked around the corner, seeing the door with the silver I on it, at the far end of the hall, and I pointed to it. “That one?”

Nancy started walking towards it, investigating the lock from where she was standing. “Okay!” She took out the knife, flipping it out, and retrieved another pin from her back pocket, sat in front of the lock, and put her hands on it, before turning to us and making her orange hair swirl. “It's unlocked!”

“What? Really?” I motioned towards the door, but by the time I got there she already had rocketed up and swung the door open, revealing another room.

This time, the room was lit, though dim like the main hallway, and I started to peer inside it until I heard Rebecca's voice from the end of the hall. “What's going on?”

“We found an unlocked door!” Shouted back Nancy.

“Unlocked?” Someone else said. J.J., probably, based on the somewhat forced western accent. “Whaddaya mean unlocked?”

“It's...unlocked. I don't know.” I tried answering J.J.'s question and failed pretty badly.

I looked behind me and saw J.J., Franklin, and Rebecca coming from the hallway with the stairwell. Franklin looked surprisingly still and tired, wearing a fancy pair of navy pajamas, while J.J. just looked tired, wearing a tank-top and obviously hastily thrown on sweatpants, though she still had a confident posture.

“What's up with them?” I pointed to the two newcomers to the party.

“I...was going to the bathroom...I don't trust cameras in my room...” Franklin tried to not make eye contact.

“I'm just takin' a walk, y'know? And I found Rebecca fumin' in the hallway, so I went to see what was up, and she told me and Franklin everythin'.”

“Much to my annoyance...” Mumbled Franklin.

“So, what did you guys find?” Rebecca went towards the open door and peered inside.

“Wing B', according to the map.” Russell flashed everyone his I.D.

“Wasn't this locked a day or two ago?” J.J. peered inside, scratching her head.

“Who's going in first?” I mentioned, hopefully trying to shift attention from the Daredevil.

Nancy looked at me, before asking “Do you think we should?”

“Why not?” Rebecca folded her arms. “We're obviously meant to enter it, right?”

“Well, uh, I mean...why not wait for everyone?” Nancy proposed, the caffeine apparently making her more confident. “I mean, if we're supposed to enter it, can't we wait for everyone else to wake up? So we don't rush in and...I dunno, take all the good stuff. If there's any good stuff.”

“I...” Franklin began, still avoiding looking at us. “That's an...awfully noble sentiment...heh, 'from the mouths of babes', I guess...”

“I'm not a 'babe'!” Yelled Nancy, leaning forwards in anger.

“A...a child, rather.” The director corrected himself.

“I'm not that either!”

J.J. cleared her throat. “Well, uh, we could just wait. I don't mind goin' in now, but...well, if people don't wanna, then that's fine.”

We all kinda agreed, more or less, not to go back there. I thought about heading back there while everyone else was gone, but I predicted that I would feel awful about it. After a bit of disagreement, Nancy also swayed us into watching a movie in the T.V. room like she originally planned. When we got to the T.V. room, Franklin tried to get us into watching one of his documentaries, Nancy wanted to watch a romantic comedy (blugh) or an animated movie (BLUGH), Russell, Rebecca, and J.J. just didn't care. I propositioned watching Midnight Run, a classic, which fell on deaf ears, and we eventually decided on some completely generic action movie called Mr. President, in which the President of the United States turned out to be a Soviet sleeper agent and ended up fighting the Secretary of State in the Oval Office over the nuclear briefcase. Most of us didn't even pay attention all that much, talking about our situation, trying to avoid talking about yesterday, what the four of us saw in the locked room, and the only time we really ever shut up was around 7, when the movie's credits were rolling, when Mr. Producer's voice came over the loudspeakers.

“Attention, you loveable little misfits! Day four has _officially_ begun! We soared in ratings last night, so I'm giving you all a little gift! It's in the Dining Room if you want it. Let's make today entertaining for our viewers at home!”

The voice slowly fizzled out into static, and we were left dumbfounded. A gift? This can't be good.

Only one way to find out, I guessed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter's a bit late. I'm sorry for that, but circumstances arose.  
> I hope I'm not getting into the ~nefarious background~ of the story a bit early. It's been a while since I've played/read the original DanganRonpa so I don't have any memories to compare the fic to, but honestly I think that's a good thing, since I won't be following the original story's pacing exactly.  
> Also, since this chapter is late enough as it is, I won't be proofreading it right this second. I might get to it tomorrow, but I really don't know. So I'm sorry if this chapter has more than the usual amount of typos and grammar mistakes! I hope it's not to distracting.  
> Additionally - Jeez, this was long. I hope it's not too boring of a read, especially that last stretch.


	19. You're Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the best possible thing happens.

The six of us – Nancy, J.J., Franklin, Russell, Rebecca and I – had exited the T.V. room after managing to use all five of the remotes to turn off everything, and had made our way to the Kitchen door.  
“So, uh...” Nancy had finished off her energy drink can and seemed like she was on the verge on crashing, though, realistically, she had a few more hours until it happened, though...she was tinier, so it might happen sooner. “Should we tell the rest? About this morning?”  
J.J. shrugged. “Y'all told me and Frank, so I don't know why not.” Franklin briefly rolled his half-closed eyes  
“They'll just get angry,” Suggested Rebecca. “They'll get frustrated at the establishment, our situation...they'll get angry at us for breaking in, we'll have to explain Nancy's lockpicking skills, and then people will get suspicious at her. If people get curious about the room, then they'll find it in the same state we left it in and they'll think they made the discovery, they share it, they'll play along. Of course, that's assuming that the door isn't locked the next time someone notices.”  
Russell just shrugged.  
After five or six minutes of silent waiting, the first person came from around the corner – Dianna. She had on an open white dress shirt with a black top underneath and black pants, with her bag, of course, and her normally bobbed hair was tied up in a bun behind her. She looked genuinely pleasant. She bounced over to the door, smiling, though she obviously didn't look like she slept last night.  
“Hey, what're you all doin' down here?” She asked, both hands tugging on the strap of her messenger bag. “Did you all wake up early? Heh, Jack, you tend to do that, right?”  
I grimaced. The only reason I woke up yesterday morning was because I thought I was dying, and I woke up this morning because someone knocked at my door. Why does she fixate on me, anyway? It's starting to get cree-  
“Oh, y'all could say that,” J.J. stretched her arms. “Well, we all kinda woke up early and we found eachother, so we all watched a movie together.”  
“Oh, did you watch one of Frank's?”  
“Uh, yes, actually...” Franklin grimaced at his new nickname, though he didn't make eye contact. “The one about...uh, _Burn_ , the spy thriller.” He was obviously lying, but Dianna apparently believed him.  
I could see Caroline, with her hair braided like usual, wearing a purple shirt with a white camisole or whatever under it, and another black pleated skirt, come out from behind the corner. Behind her was Edwin, in a hastily thrown on a gaudy white-and-black striped polo and black jeans, stumbling forwards, still half-asleep.  
Eventually, everyone came down, standing outside the door.  
“So...what do y'all think the 'gift' is?” Asked Samson, was wearing a simple tan shirt and black pants, and his stubble was growing more prominent.   
“Well, why don't we open it?” Gordon asked, wearing another blue shirt with flowers and surfboards on it.   
As soon as he said that, I could feel everyone's eyes fall on me. The 'daredevil'. For the second time today. “You know what? I'm really getting tired of the 'let the daredevil do everything' shit.” I sighed, and opened the door for everyone.

* * *
    
    
    We entered the dining room to the best damn sight I have ever seen. The dining room was normal, but the table...there was an actual fucking breakfast feast on it. Silver and copper plates with pancakes, waffles, strips of bacon, sausages, toast, all still steaming, bowls of fruit, fancy pans with different kinds of eggs, fancy glass pitchers full of orange juice and milk, and plates, glasses and silverware for all thirteen of us.
    “Holy _shit_.” I exclaimed. I felt like collapsing. It was food – not an M.R.E. or granola bars and cola but _actual fucking food_! I thought I was going to actually fucking starve here.
    There was a few _“Oh my God!”_ and some orgasmic gasping. One or two people pushed everyone else out of the way and catapulted themselves at the food, swimming around the table with a plate and grabbing whatever they could, and, being the first person in the door, I momentarily said “Fuck you all.” and ran up to the buffet, grabbing everything that looked appealing, which was everything. There was brief chaos as the hungrier and less-nice people scrambled for anything they could get on their plate, leaving the more patient ones to grab whatever was left. Eventually, we were all sitting in our seats, about to eat when Sarah yelled above the sound of plates clattering and people going “Mmmmm!”
    “Everyone SHUT UP!” Sarah was disgruntled, and she had in her hand some sort of letter or sheet of paper. She was wearing a brown jacket with army markings on the sleeves, buttoned together, along with her striped scarf. “Listen, this was in the middle of the table, did you all seriously miss it?” After a brief throat-clearing, she started reading.
    “Congratulations on your massive ratings boost! I can't wait until yesterday's episode airs tonight. I expect for it to make you guys #1 in the nation! Nothing like good, uncensored death to grab people's attention. 
    “Due to last night's horrible tragedies, I've decided to help alleviate the pain by unlocking the door to wing B. Explore it to your heart's contents!
    “Also, a taste of the outside world for you – President Benjamin Gerald has suggested for everyone to shut off the T.V. around 6 P.M. Central and “spend time with their families.” What a fucking idiot, right?
    “Sincerly, Mr. Producer.”
    “So we get another area to explore every time someone dies, huh?” Gordon twirled his fork in between his fingers smoothly. “That's...heh, that's almost tempting.” Everyone's eyes fell on him, and he just shrugged.
    “Do we get...this after someone dies?” I asked, motioning to the food. “Or just for 'ratings'?”
    “Well, it's customary for the show's creators to get a gift from the network after getting high ratings or being #1 in their time slot...so I assume that we'll get more gifts,” Westin said, his voice smooth and bubbly. He had on a yellowish-golden dress shirt and a loose, black tie, and his hair was messy, though it was obviously supposed to be that way. “Plus, I vaguely recall that Mr. Producer said that whoever won the personality polls at the end of the week would win a prize.”
    “Which...uh,” Dianna fumbled with her I.D., pressing a few buttons on it, then scanning whatver it was opened to. She was sitting right next to me, but her I.D. was facing away. “So, Rebecca is leading, with Westin behind her, and Nancy behind him!”
    “Alright, good, whatever, people are dead, people are popular, _can we eat now_?” Groaned Edwin.
    “I, well, I do want to discuss that.” Caroline leaned her hands against one another. “We experienced two of our own...they died within 24 hours...and, well, trauma can have a lot of effects on the body. Did everyone sleep alright? Any nightmares? How are you feeling right now?”
    Suddenly, Dianna's smiling face broke away to a grimace, and she propped her head up against her arms. “I...I just didn't sleep last night...I kept thinking abuot _him_ and...I didn't see his corpse, but the way Gordon described it...and... _her_...being...” As she talked, her voice slowly died into a small croak before stopping entirely. Across the table, I could see Edwin eating his plate anyway.
    “I-I don't know.” Samson scratched the back of his neck. “It was...awful. I still can't believe that someone – one of us – took a perfectly innocent kid away from the world...we should definitely mourn, but we shouldn't dwell on it, it ain't healthy.” I noticed that more people were starting to eat their breakfast, not aware of the lovely conversation happening around them, and, honestly, I just wanted to put an end to the fucking sadness and moping around.
    “Look, this talk isn't good, is it?” I grumbled. “Yeah, we fucked up. Two people died, one innocent and one guilty as fuck. But...I dunno, we just can't keep thinking about it, right? I-I mean...” I was stuttering, trying to find the best words to use, and I came up empty. Thankfully, Rebecca came to my rescue.
    “I think what Jack's trying to say is, well, we can't dwell on what happened. That's what Mr. Producer wants. That's why this show is called “Despair America” - he wants us to spiral into depression and anguish, and we can't let that happen! We have to keep calm, keep Malcolm and Sophia in our memories, and not let this overcome us.”
    Sadly, I don't think anyone was listening. Most of them were digging into your food, talking to the people next to them about the food, smiling, not paying attention.
    I sighed. “It was good, Rebecca. It's fine.” She looked back at me after noticing nobody paid attention, her face slightly twisted with anger, shook her head, and starting poking the food she had collected on her plate.
    There was a mindless chatter around us as we ate our food, people trying to forget what had happened yesterday, crushing it with the feeling of fresh, actual food going down their throats and new thoughts invading their brains with enough force to block out the old and gruesome memories, or, at least, with enough force to temporarily block them out for five minutes.
    I glanced at the person to my right – Dianna. She still had that look of depression on her face, her eyes glazed-over and her hands in her lap. I poked her shoulder with my slightly greasy fork, hoping it didn't stain the nice white blouse she had on. “Hey, aren't you going to-”
    She suddenly pushed her full plate of pancakes, sausages and scrambled eggs towards me, not making eye contact. “I'm not hungry. You can have it.”
    She didn't seem like she wanted to be bothered, so I just sighed and grabbed her plate, moving it next to mine, and kept eating both plates.
    The empty chatter grew and grew over time, and the food shrinking. After an hour of constant feasting, talking, and an air of niceness that barely masked the feeling of grief and death, we finally depleted the food. There was a quick expedition to the kitchen to see if there was more for us, lead by me, which there wasn't. Most of us groaned in disapproval.
    “Alright, everyone hand in your plates and silverware and all that.” Samson asked, gathering the persons next to him.
    “Why? Do you not trust us or some shit?” Edwin snapped back.
    “No, I mean, it's the least I can do for whoever's in charge of this. They put together a nice meal for us, so I intend to return the favor by cleaning up.”
    There was a long silence, before Sarah uttered a flat _“What.”_
    “I-I mean, why not? It's...I don't know, I thought it was a good idea, right?”
    “They're keeping us against our will. Whoever's in charge of this – they're watching us, putting us on T-V, wanting us to _die_. And you want to aid them, however small your contributions actually are?” Caroline said, and I could hear her voice get slightly irratated, and she did something uncharacteristic – she slightly mumbled under her breath, which I couldn't hear.
    “We really shouldn't be helpin' the guy in charge, right?” Nancy asked, and I noticed that the caffeine was starting to wear off. “Whoever it is?”
    “What do you mean? Ain't Mr. Producer in charge of all this?” J.J. seemed a bit confused, I guess. She seemed smart enough to know, though...whatever it was we were supposed to know.
    “No, no...Mr. Producer is a robot. An animatronic.” Westin gently explained.
    “I thought he was just a guy in...what do you call them? Morph-suits? Hell, maybe a jockey suit, they make 'em pretty tight nowadays.” 
    “His tie glows, doesn't it?” Russell remembered, tracing a tie shape on his top. “That'd be pretty hard to do on a thin shirt or fabric or whatever, 'specially since it glows so bright.”
    J.J. scratched her loose, brunette hair. “So what does that mean? If he's a robot?” 
    “Someone's controlling him. Which...it does make sense.” Gordon kept twirling his knife in his fingers, a little bit too menacingly. “Someone's gotta watch the camera. Someone's gotta be editing the show. Someone's gotta be...doing whatever they do in the rooms that're locked at night. Someone's gotta be controlling the guns. There's probably a whole crew on this.”
    “And someone had to have kidnapped us and gotten us out of the campus...” Franklin mumbled. “This...this is likely the most complicated act of terror in American history...”
    “So who's in charge, huh?” Dianna had rebounded most of the way back up to her normal happiness. I guess the thought of getting to the bottom of this thing made her excited. “Middle Eastern guys? Disgruntled postal workers? Maybe the people from Columbia National Academy?”
    Rebecca shot me a strained, 'should I tell them' kind of look. I shook my head without thinking.
    “We just don't know...” Caroline sighed. “Maybe we won't. Maybe they'll slip up and accidentally reveal something, but that's unlikely. For now, we can be rest assured that there's likely at least...two dozen people working on this. Likely more.”
    “That's...wow.” J.J. seemed like her whole world got shattered.
    Edwin grabbed his glass of milk, downed it in one motion, and slammed it back on the table. “Alright, look, we ain't gonna figure out this whole mystery in one fuckin' pow-wow session. I don't know 'bout the rest of you chucklefucks, but I'm gonna go see what our home for the next fuckin' forever has in the next wing.” He left without saying another word, not bothering to look any of us in the eye.
    I shrugged. “I'm goin' with him. Why not?” 
    Samson sighed. “I guess I could wait to do clean up until after we explore.”
    “You don't have to clean up, for _God's sake,_ ” Sarah wheezed. “Whatever, I'm coming.”
    Eventually, we all sounded off that we would go explore this new wing, leaving the mess of dirty plates, crumbs, and glasses behind us, and I accidentally lead the excited pack towards the new wing of our prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time. I didn't want to give you all a lot to read after ~9 fucking pages last time.  
> I should note that I've effectively run out of pre-written chapters, so I'll be moving to a "when it's done" upload schedule, as opposed to my current "Friday evening" one. However, I'll still be treating Friday as a deadline and I'll still try to get things uploaded then, or at the very least on Saturday or Sunday. However, I'm involved in one or two more projects than normal nowadays and there's always school starting on the horizon, so I don't know how this'll effect my writing time or ability. I hope all of you will be patient with me!  
> Also: If the formatting seems different or anything, it's because I'm using a new word processor after a horrible glitch caused me to abandon my old one. I hope it's not too distracting!


	20. Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack explores a new region.

The new hallway was fully lit, now it was colored exactly like what I assumed was the 'main' part of the mansion, though the walls were a little bit bluer and the ever-present screens slash - paintings had silver-ish frames, still hanging in a bizzare, pretty damn crazy manner. From what I could see, there were three walls on the right side of the room, maybe two on the far end of the left, a door at the very end of the hall.

We all filtered into the room, Edwin not in sight, and we almost immediately scattered around, going into the different rooms, down to the door at the end of the hall, which was apparently locked, or at least the one or two people down there already were acting like it was locked to fuck me up. I started making my way towards the first door on the left, the doors a deep colored wood that were subtly painted the same grayish-blue as the wall, if a bit darker.

* * *

 

The new room wall's were completely covered in dark wood bookshelves, filled with books of different color and sizes, with two dark wood desks in the middle. The lights were set on the lowest setting that you could still read in, and the desks came equipped with medium-sized metal lamps. Caroline and Dianna were already investigating the shelves. Caroline had pulled out two medium-sized books with one fluid motion and looked at the cover briefly, before looking inside the pages.

"These are my books," She said, her gaze fixed on the words on the page. "I...can't say I'm surprised."

"Do they have mine?" Dianna was searching one section of the shelves, standing on her toes. "Best and Brightest', I released it last month."

Caroline closed her book, eyes skeptical. "You wrote a book?"

"Well...uh, I didn't like, sit down and write it. These are the interviews I did with some of the Columbia National Academy kids! I...uh..." She stared at the cover, white with her name and the C.N.A. logo on the front, and I could see the tears starting to grow in her eyes. "This...it was part one...I was gonna finish it when we got to...to the school..." She leaned against the shelf and started wiping her eyes. I...honestly, I was starting to like her as a person, rather than just an annoyance, and seeing her like this was starting to make me feel bad. I did the only thing that I could think of - walking around the desks in the middle, going by Dianna's side, and putting my arm around her shoulder, which was a bit awkward since I was more than a head taller than her.

"Listen, do you really think the government is going to just let their best kids get kidnapped?" I didn't believe a word I was saying, but I didn't care as long as she believed it. "They're conducting a nationwide hunt right now, they're doin'...whatever it is they do to find missing people. We got, like, a day left in here."

Dianna suddenly hugged me tightly, burying her face in my t-shirt, sighing deeply against my chest and making my shirt and skin a bit warmer for a second or two, which felt kinda...weird. Not like a 'I just learned I liked this person a _lot_ ' way, more like an 'Oh boy, they're showing affection' way. I looked at Caroline, who was staring at us like we just started making out or something equally disgusting, she rolled her eyes, I shrugged a little bit, though one of my arms was being pinned down by Dianna's surprisingly strong grip, and I glanced down, seeing that she was looking up at me, with wide eyes that were still a bit sad-looking, and a tiny little half-smile. "I...I just hope we get out before more...bad stuff happens."

"Yeah, I-I do too..." I stammered, her tight hug starting to get really fucking uncomfortable. I tried easing out of it, but she just held me tighter, like she was saying 'This is a beautiful moment between us, don't you dare try to fucking ruin it.' "Okay, so, uh..." _'This is starting to get really fucking weird now!'_ I wanted to say, but I still had to be nice. “Hey, could you, uh...it's starting to get hard to breathe, y'know?”

“Oh! Oh...I'm sorry!” She let me go and awkwardly smiled, patting her hand where she had just squeezed like it was supposed to make the brief discomfort go away faster. “I...uh...sorry?”

“No, it's...I mean, yeah, it's fine,” I considered patting her head for some reason, like she was a kid, but instead I just gave her a quick squeeze and smiled. I was worried that she was going to grab me again, but instead she just kept grinning slightly. “Hey, I'm gonna go look at the rest of the place. If you need me, you can find me.” I said. I wanted to get out A.S.A.P., before she started flinging more affection my way.

“Uh, yeah! Sure.” She murmured, her voice happy.

I smiled, patted her shoulder, and made my way towards the exit.

* * *

 

The room to the right of the library (Is that what it was? That's what it seemed like.) had walls plastered in squares, triangles, circles, and other shapes in different soothing yet exciting colors, and the floor was wood shaped like large puzzle pieces, maybe a foot or two large. There were two gigantic toy chests in opposite corners of the room, one of them being investigated by Franklin, and there was a small nook in the right part of the wall with different transparent chests stacked on top of each other, apparently filled with small multicolored building bricks. There were two knee-high tables on either side of the room, with different toys and children's books scattered on them.

Franklin grunted with disapproval. “Just...who do they think we are? Do they think we'll derive enjoyment from these?”

“I don't know. I don't think anyone here would play with these.”

Franklin jumped, and twisted his head towards me. “Oh! I...uh...didn't know anyone was there.”

“So...you were talking to yourself?”

“It's...uh...heh, you know, uh...” He stammered, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand. “Well, people...people who talk to themselves…they're, uh, on average, more intelligent...”

I think I heard something like that, but...it seemed like a pretty weird excuse. Franklin could tell I wasn't buying it, his eyes went wide, and he strode over to where I was by the door. “No word of this. to...to _anyone_.”

“Dude, it's fine, it's just a quirk.” I put up my hands defensively – I had no idea what he was going to do. “Look, bro, if it makes you feel any better, I-”

“ _No_ ,” Franklin leaned in, and I leaned back, a bit afraid. “It's a sign of weakness. You know what happens when you're weak here?!” He grunted, his voice more clear and clean than he's ever been.

“Alright, alright! Jesus.”

Franklin shook his head and exited the toy room or whatever this place was. I waited five minutes or so for him to be completely away, and I left after him.

* * *

 

The last room on the right was...scary, and a bit cool. The walls were like a museum, with swords, axes, katanas, machetes, daggers, and other weapons mounted on the metal walls, thankfully behind glass. In the middle of the room was a pedestal with a single, fancy dagger being held on a thin metal stick, behind a thin layer of glass.

I looked over the selection – they all were completely metal, real, and sharp, and they had little cards next to them, saying what they were, what country they were from, how old, how valuable they were…I went over to inspect the next section of shelves and accidentally bumped into someone small, so I looked down and saw Nancy.

With a gun.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” I yelled, crouching, backing up, fucking afraid. “Jesus! Get that thing outta my face!”

“Why? I got my marksmanship merit badge. I know how t' use it.” She said, fondling the gun in her hands. It was some sort of silver, old-west revolver, with wooden grips and an engraved barrel. I couldn't take my eyes off of it, mostly in fear.

“Know how to use it'? What the fuck does that mean? You know how to kill someone with it? What the _fuck_ , dude? Where the hell did you get it?” I almost-screamed, still protecting my face.

“I mean I know what t' do with it! I know trigger discipline, I know how t' aim, I know not t' point it at someone...” She said, a bit annoyed, and she swung open the spinny part that held the bullets, and showed me it. “Besides, look, it's empty.”

“Whatever, just put that thing away!”

“It's not a ' _thing_ '! It's a Clydesdale Arms 1886 Revolver! It ain't even reproduction!” Even though she was pretty angry with me - something that I wasn't used to from her – she wasn't waving around the gun or anything. She had it by her side, finger not even on the trigger, hand steady, other hand gently holding the body or whatever it was called.

“Where the fuck did you get it, anyway?”

“Uh, from over there.” She pointed to a section of the shelves that had a pane of glass open.

“What? Did you pick it open?”

“No, you can just open 'em.” She used the hand not on the grip to put her hand between two of the panes of glass, digging her nails in an opening between them and pried it open, before gently shutting it again. I guess the people behind this wanted an easy access to weapons

“Alright, cool, now put it back.”

“ _Fine_.” She sighed, and went to the already open glass window.

“Hey, ain't that a Clydesdale?” I heard J.J. say from behind us. She walked over to Nancy, leaning over in front of her and making her brunette hair shroud her face.

“Oh, yeah!” Nancy chimed, showing her that damn gun.

“Man, that's the _Gun That Won The West!_ Can I see? Is it loaded?”

“Uh...it's not loaded, but sure!” Nancy handed the gun to J.J., and I took that as my cue to let the weirdos play around in peace.

* * *

 

As I thought, the door at the very end of the hall, wooden with three golden “I”s on it, was locked. Rather, it didn't even have a knob on it – there was a metal plate, and nothing else. No lock, nothing. Weird, but I guess we couldn't pick the lock. To the left of it were two more doors, both plain, and Edwin leaning in the middle of them. He looked at me, then looked away, shaking his head. I ignored him.

* * *

 

The room had completely white walls and floors, with cabinets on one wall, a pair of really fucking long shutter doors on the other, a rack of different shoes on another that was long as the wall, and the middle of the room had around three racks of different pieces of clothing, from dresses to jackets to t-shirts to bikinis.

“Jack!” Westin came running at me with a red leather jacket in his hand. “Here, try this on, it's a Humboldt.”

“I'm sorry?”

“It's a lot better than that ratty old jacket, I assure you.”

“Yeah, well my jacket has patches and stuff on it. And it's lucky.”

“Hm...ah, well, I must admit that I still get attached to some articles of clothing...”

“What's a 'Hum - bult', anyway?”

“You've never heard of Edgar Humboldt?” Westin seemed genuinely shocked. “He's _the_ designer for sportswear and leatherwear! I'm sure you've heard of Dylan Pines? He had Humboldt design his skating attire!”

I sighed at the mention of Pines' name. “Yeah, makes sense, since Pines is the fucking yuppie kid's skater. Y'know the boards he sells cost, like, $200 a piece? And you gotta pay a lot more than usual to get whatever you're selling on his 'reality' show that's really just scripted garbage?” I shook my head, getting actually pretty damn angry. “He's a rich asshole that took the idea of being a 'punk' and styled his entire fucking image after it, except he got rid of the fucking bargain bin leather and jeans and replaced them with pre-ripped, $500 outfits designed by Edgar – fucking – Hum-bult.”

“Oh...uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to strike a chord with you.” Westin awkwardly placed the jacket, which I now hated with all of my fucking being, behind his back.

“It's...I guess you're fine,” I sighed and shrugged.

“Do you want to take it with you?” He suggested, taking the jacket out from behind his back a bit. “I assure you, you'll look quite fetching in it.”

“No, I'm good. You enjoy yourself in here.”

“Oh, I will!” He chimed, leaving to place the jacket back on the rack. I waved goodbye, not that he could see it, and left.

* * *

 

The last room was dark, lit only by neon signs on the walls for various sports teams around the country. One of the walls had different arcade machines lining it, including a pinball machine or two, and one corner of the room had a decently-sized television with several boxes under it, and a rack of video game cases to the right, a couch in front of it with a coffee table in front of that, and twelve video game controllers on front of it, connected by wires (To better strangle you with, my dear!). Each set of four was from a different system. Russell was lounging in the couch, remote in hand, feet on the coffee table.

“Anything good on?” I joked.

“Yeah, well, the Vaqueros v. Wasps was on earlier, but it went black a minute or two ago.”

“Wait, you're actually getting sports?!” I yelled, trying to grab the remote from him. I mean, holy shit, connection to the outside world? This is insane! We're not alone!

“Barely!” He snapped back, keeping the remote in his far hand, like an asshole. “Signal's all fucked up. I think they're blacking out the commercials, or maybe the talking heads, or something,” He threw down the remote on the couch and crossed his arms. “Maybe they realized we're not supposed to have it or some shit.”

“That actually _really fucking sucks!”_ I grabbed the remote, a really ovular and curvy device, and played with it a bit. The channel numbers went up, but it was either static, really distorted faces, families, pets, or whatever, or just blackness, and after a minute, there was the sound of electronics fucking up bad, then the screen just flashed “NO INPUT”.

“Well, you broke it.”

“Shut up! Vaqueros were gonna win anyway.” I grunted, throwing the remote back to him. Vacqueros just picked up Marco O'Malley, best wide reciever in the league, and the Wasps had exactly fucking squat. The game was finished from kick-off. Though, of course, I was more worried about the fact that the only contact we had with the people outside was fucking broken after a minute of barely working.

“Eh, whatever.” Russell rolled his eyes, his gaze falling on a neon sign of a gator with a beret. “More of a Segnette's guy, anyway.”

We talked (well, argued) sports for a few minutes. I tried telling him that the Segnette's were going downhill ever since they traded Robert Baster, he refuted by saying that the Vazquero's coach wasn't doing his job, I threatened to cut his throat, he told me to cool it, I left.

* * *

 

Rebecca was waiting for me outside of the door to the game room, and she caught me by the collar, stretching out my t-shirt and almost making me stumble backwards.

“How's your day been?” She asked, still holding me by the shirt.

“Uh, well, I was hugged by Dianna, Nancy had a hopefully fake gun, Franklin seemed sane for a second, and now you're trying to strangle me, so other than that, I'm fine.”

“Really?” Rebecca let me go and smiled a bit too coyly. “Tell me more.”

I ended up explaining everything that happened that day. She seemed most interested in Franklin and Dianna's behavior, for some reason, and when I finished, she chuckled to herself.

“Well, I'm assuming everyone else is too busy playing with their new toy - err, wing, so we could just spend the rest of our day to ourselves...or with each other.”

“Wow, uh, okay.” Was she coming on to me?! What the hell? Two in one day?

She saw my flustering, and sighed. “Not in that way. For God's sake, get over yourself. But...uh...to be honest, you're really the only person I can trust in this place, so...I think it'd be nice.”

I was the only person she could trust? Just because I extended my niceness when she was freaking out two days ago and because I...oh...yeah, I did help her solve a murder, I guessed. I tried not to dwell on that fact for too long. “What about Caroline?”

Rebecca put her hand to her temple. “I'm starting to think she thinks of me more as a subject than a person.”

“Ah, alright.”

We stood there in silence for a minute or two, really, _really_ awkwardly.

“Well, we can...there's video games in the game room?” I suggested, kinda half-heartedly.

“Video games are for idiots and children,” She responded, crossing her arms, then quickly adding a “Not that you're either.”

“Movie?”

“I've watched enough movies in this place. And we've always watched one after something awful has happened, and it's never helped.”

“We could break into another wing?” I said, smiling a bit. Too be honest, getting into that locked room was...a bit exciting.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

We both chuckled/cackled,and we rushed out of the wing and back into the main hallway, forgetting to grab Nancy, then walked the distance to the locked door on the other side of the T – shaped hall, the one with silver “I”'s on it like the previously locked wing's door.

Rebecca gently gestured to the metal doorknob. “Well? Aren't you - “

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I prayed to every god I knew of, mentally, asking for them to not let this one be a shock door, and I gripped the handle.

The last thing I remember was the pain shooting through my hand, traveling up through my veins, and shutting off my brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to having more distractions than normal this week, I literally just finished this chapter less thirty minutes ago. Oh well! I'm starting to worry that this "update when it's done" schedule's going to bite me in the ass one day.  
> I'm starting to worry that I'm making Jack into a Marty Sue, since he has one girl apparently fawning for him and he's starting to read like a middle schooler's idea of "badass". I'm trying to tone it down a little, but it's a very thin line between "normal" and "lame", and he is a little bit of a celebrity, so it's actually pretty difficult. If anyone could offer me advice who's written someone like this, I'd appreciate it.  
> Also: back to regular fonts! Mostly. I think. I still don't know how to change last chapter's, and it's a bit too late to just delete and re-upload, so, well, fuck me.


	21. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack ends the day worse than he expected.

I woke up to the sound of silence, which I broke by groaning.  
My head was spinning. My eyes were focusing in and out. I had a massive headache. There was a ringing in my ears. I felt like I was on the verge of dying.  
Too be honest, I had gotten used to that sort of feeling, after yesteday morning, and me collapsing on the very first day of this fucking insane hell.  
The first thing I saw was a spinning ceiling fan, with the lights burning my eyes, so I tried maneuvering up my hand to block the shine, didn't help that much, and I briefly thought I was able to see the veins and the bones through my skin. I could feel every function of my body – the blood pumping, my nerves twitching, my bones creaking, and all of it fucking hurt.   
Someone said my name. I didn't respond because it took a few seconds to actually register, and even longer for my hearing to even focus.  
“This...starting...habit, isn't it?” Someone said, and I could see two black blobs come into my vision. I groaned.  
“Jack, how are you feeling?” Another person, probably a girl, asked me. My hearing was getting better, but my vision was still blurry and sharpening way too fucking slowly.  
“ _I...I'm dying._ ” I slurred out.   
Suddenly, someone new entered my vision and grabbed me by the shoulders, and started to scream, something that felt like needles piercing my ears. “What?! NO! Please don't die! You can make it! Gordon, can't you help him?!” Whoever it was, probably a girl, probably Dianna or whatever her name was, I couldn't remember, was shaking my shoulders, making me feel even more dead.  
“Dianna, cool it! He needs rest!” My vision was almost complete, or complete enough to see Gordon nudge Dianna out of the way. She didn't take it well, and she just kept looking at me sadly – or, at least, I thinks he was looking at me. Her eyes were just small, blurry spots of white that were slowly being filled in with detail.  
“Can I get him up?” Asked Rebecca, apparently one of the people standing over me. Gordon nodded, I think, and Rebecca gently guided me up on the soft thing I was lying on, propping my back against another soft thing.  
“How many fingers am I holding up?” She asked, holding up her hand.  
“I...I don't...fuck, don't...know...” I mumbled., my migraine taking up most of my brain functions, including speaking.  
“I'll take that as a 'three'.”   
“W-what's the diagnosis?” Dianna asked, her voice wavering. I assumed that she had a look of worry on her face.  
“Well, he's still in shock from the...shock. Not sure how his motor skills are...” I saw Gordon move fast, then I felt a dull thump against my knee, which twitched due to the sensation, something that didn't even compare to my headache. “They're alright, I guess...I mean, I should probably say that I'm not really sure what to do. unless you want me to cut him open and see if his insides are alright.”  
Dianna said something, in a small and uneasy way. Gordon responded, and I mumbled out something that I wasn't able to hear.  
“Well, after you were incapacitated, Mr. Producer gloated over the intercom and insulted your intelligence, then he informed us that, because _someone_ broke into a restricted area, the first rule is getting voided, and that _all_ locked doors are going to stay locked.” Rebecca informed me, crossing her arms, speaking like we didn't totally lock pick...wait, did we? I couldn't fucking remember anymore.  
“Jack, how are you feeling now?” Dianna put a hand on my shoulder, and I didn't notice.  
“I...alright...head's killing me...” I looked downwards at the hardwood floor – or, at least, it looked hardwood. “My head's...spinning...” I groaned loudly, putting my hand to my forehead as if that would do fucking something. A white pill bottle entered into my field of vision, and I grabbed it, investigating the label, which just swirled and faded in and out.  
“Painkillers,” Gordon said in a calming way. “Thought you might need them.”  
I sighed, not even caring if this was a plot to kill me, and wrestled with the bottle until Gordon sighed, took it from me, opened it in one fluid motion and handed me a white capsule, which I swallowed without water.  
“Do you think you could stay up for a few more hours?” Dianna asked me, soothingly.  
“No...I'm going to bed...” I sighed, tried standing up, stumbled forward a couple of feet, and both Dianna and Gordon rushed in to keep me up on my two legs, not that I noticed or even thought about it.  
“Here, I'll take him up to his room.” Rebecca stepped near me, and I felt someone's hand against my back.  
“Why don't I do it?” Dianna said, something that I barely heard even though she was standing close to me. “I'm...uh-”  
Rebecca sighed. “What are you going to say? 'Gentler'? 'Quicker on your feet'? 'Cuter'? Look, no, It's _fine_ , I can handle it.”  
“No...uh...” Dianna tried looking into my eyes, which was hard since I was starting ahead, and sounded sadder for some reason, said something else, and sat down on a couch that had, apparently, been behind me this whole time, or it was the one I was previously sitting on.  
Rebecca took my hand, which I didn't really notice, and lead me out of the room, and after a blur of dark colors and dim lights, I ended up in front of my room.  
“Unlock it.” Rebecca said forcefully.  
I tried retrieving my I.D. from my pocket, dropped it, picked it back up, and fumbled around, trying to get it to fit inside the lock, when Rebecca took it from my hand and shoved it inside the lock, and gave it back to me.  
I paused, before managing to work out words. My headache, while still there, was mostly weak now. “Why didn't you...why not let Dianna take me up here?”  
Rebecca sighed. “I don't trust anyone here, certainly not with someone who's in a terrible state like you.”  
Wow, thanks. Though...I guess it wasn't true. Whatever, I didn't care. I nodded, entered my dorm room, slowly took off most of my clothes, and collapsed on the bed. Sleep came really damn quickly afterwards.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really short chapter this time. Sorry for offering something of not much substance, so I'll try to make up next chapter.  
> And, yeah, I may be (read: definitely) abusing the "character gets knocked out" trope as a a way to pass the time. I'll try to cut down on it in the later Episodes!  
> Also, next chapter might take a bit longer to write, since I'll have to finish the remaining Free Times and also deal with school starting in the very near future. I can make it up by posting bonus stuff if I miss next week's deadline - maybe my notes? Sketches? I'm not sure, but I'll try to make it up.  
> (This weird formatting stuff is starting to piss me off! I'd really like suggestions of how to fix it from experienced AO3 users.)


	22. Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns something new. (FREE TIME VOTE)

“Good morning, my little hormone-crazed dumplings! It's now daytime, so you can wake up now. Let's make today entertaining for our viewers at home!”

I woke up from the best damn sleep I had ever had in my life, I guessed it must've been something like 12 hours, and I felt fantastic. I didn't have a headache (though I popped two more painkillers, the bottle I accidentally slept with in my hand, just in case), I felt alert, and I didn't even care that there was a good chance that I would get jumped on and my throat would be slashed today.

I changed out of the boxers I had on, put on a fresh t-shirt and my first new pair of jeans, my pair of black sneakers, and my jacket, tucked my I.D. and my knife into my pocket, and almost stepped on a clean, white envelope right by door.

That wasn't right.

I stared at it for a while, trying to make heads or tails of it, trying to fucking unravel all the mysteries surrounding this weird, alien thing, then realizing I could just pick it up and find out for myself. So I did that, sat on my bed, dug my nail underneath the flap, and tore it open.

Inside was, of course, a letter. It was standard white paper, black text like it came out of a typewriter, and that damn red tie logo in the upper right hand corner. It took a little bit for my eyes to focus and actually read the fucking thing.

 

> Well, this might be sudden, but I was already planning on doing this for the fifth day, so I'm _not_ sorry if this is too soon.
> 
> Have you ever thought about your fellow housemates? Not everyone who was selected to attend Columbia National Academy was as squeaky-clean as the administration made them out to be. They all had secrets. Some of them are worse than others. I went ahead and uncovered all of your dirty, horrible little truths, and I didn't do it just for fun. If nobody is dead in two days, then I'll reveal everyone's secrets on the show, and I might just execute one of you for funsies.
> 
> You all have one. Exactly one. Some of you have more, but I chose the best, worst ones from your veritable-fucking-repertoire of awfulness.
> 
> And, I decided not to give you yours.
> 
> Instead, what follows is a random person's, without a name, because that would be to easy. Everyone who's still alive has someone else's, so the dead kids aren't in.
> 
> The secret you got is -
> 
> **WENT TO REHAB**
> 
>  
> 
> Use that information as you will. Ask your friends! And I look forward to seeing you at the next house trial!
> 
> -Mr. Producer

 

 

That…

I had a secret? I thought I was pretty open. Was it my suspension for...it was either “assault” or “bullying” in the eighth grade - maybe seventh - when some punk kid made fun of my mom and I gave him a nosebleed for his trouble. I didn't think about that for too long, though – who here could've gone to rehab? For what? Wouldn't C.N.A. know about that? That seems like something that would keep you from attending – however, it was supposed to be secret. Maybe C.N.A. didn't know it? How bad did these secrets get, anyway? There was also the fact that…

We had to murder someone. Someone had to. Or else everyone's secrets would be revealed, and one of us would die. Maybe. Probably. But...shit. One of us was going to die. Maybe two. Maybe three. Some of my...could I call them friends? They were going to…

I crumpled up that piece of paper and threw it on the pile of broken glass and one or two other pieces of paper that I should really clean up before I accidentally step on it or something, stood up, and exited my room.

The hallways were eerily quiet and empty, the lights on the highest setting, and I made my way down towards the first (?) floor. Also empty. After realizing my stomach was loudly growling, I went into the store room and grabbed one or two handfulls of granola bars, shoving them into my pocket, and went outside, peering into the dining room – everyone was there, looking either sullen, paranoid, or normal. Nobody looked my way, thank God, and I sat down in my normal seat, noticing that the only person not there was Dianna.

I glanced around at everyone, all tense and not talking. Should I break the silence? You know what? Fuck it. “Is Dianna okay?”

Samson sighed. He had on a gray plaid shirt and black jeans, a pretty standard and simple outfit. “I knocked on her door five minutes ago. She said she decided to take a shower.”

Shit, did I take a shower at all in the past five days? I tried subtly sniffing myself, which caused everyone to look my way.

“You...” Westin looked at me, his normal smile wavering. He had on a thin white hoodie and a golden necklace, along with a noticeable gold earring. “You _have_ bathed, haven't you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Every night.” I lied.

I saw Rebecca, wearing a grey blazer with buttons of various causes on it, roll her eyes.

Sarah, wearing a grey hoodie that, too be honest, better complimented her form, her beanie, and her guitar resting on her chair, sighed loudly. “So are we just going to fucking _ignore_ that one of is going to fucking _die_ soon?!” I heard Nancy sniffle, and suddenly Sarah's arm was around her shoulder, though Sarah's face was still furious.

“One...” Gordon was scratching his arm nervously. He had on a white sleeveless top underneath a blue, open shirt. “One of us _might_ die. He – it said that it might kill us. But that's not going to happen. We're all smart people. I mean, we fucking saw what happened to Sophia, right? Because she literally fucking tortured Malcolm to death? No dude here is going to do that, because they're going to fucking die, too.”

There was a pause, then J.J. started biting her lip. She was wearing another tank top, this time bearing the logo of a rodeo company or some shit, and her hair was loose, almost reaching her upper chest. “We can't be sure, y'know? I...I mean...” Her Western accent was slipping a bit, and I could barely hear a New England one beneath it. “The secret, the one I got...”

“Ya know what?” Samson said, his voice becoming suddenly confident. “How about we fix that? Everyone just say what you think your secret right now and we'll get it all over with.”

Rebecca's eye twitched. “How the _hell_ will that fix it?”

“Well, if we share it now, we won't care if they get revealed in two days, will we? We'll be comfor-”

“No, no, no, it doesn't matter if we know, because the people out there, the **sick** _ **fucks**_ tuning in every goddamned week are going to see it!” Rebecca bared her teeth, rising out of her chair. “So why don't you stop trying to be the **FUCKING voice of GODDAMNED reason** and just **FUCKING ACCEPT** that some people aren't fucking COMFORTABLE with **EVERY SHIT IDEA THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR BRAIN!** ”

Samson seemed absolutely shocked. “I-I mean...I see.”

“Rebecca...” Caroline stood up, reached over the corner of the table, and put her hand near Rebecca's shoulder. She had on a black dress shirt, red tie, and another modest black skirt. “Nothing good is going go come out of this,” She stated, in a regular, monotone voice, like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “Just please calm down, apologize...”

Suddenly, Rebecca, her face fucking red, swiped Caroline's hand away, and grabber her tie, pulling it up so that Caroline's tall frame was leaning down and facing the relatively short Rebecca at eye level. “Don't you fucking tell me what to do, you **bitch!** ”With every word, she jostled the tie, shoving the knot up into her throat, and Caroline's face was obviously in pain – her teeth were bared and her eyes were wide. “Why the fuck are you telling me to calm down when one of us is going to fucking **DIE** in two fucking days?!”

I couldn't take it any longer. “REBECCA!” I shouted, like an angry father, and looked at her right in what I could see of her eyes. “Let her go! She's just trying to help!”

Rebecca jerked her head my way, looked into my eyes, and her face abruptly turned guilty and ashamed. She released Caroline's tie, causing the tall girl to suddenly spring back upright and then fall back into her chair. For a second, Rebecca looked like she had no idea what was going on, then looked like everything came crashing down onto her shoulders, rushed out of the room, shoving her chair out of her way onto the floor, and slammed the door.

There was a minute or two of silence. Caroline looked sick, rubbing her throat, eyes wide and pupils needle-thin, visibly gagging on the air in her windpipe, and Gordon walked over, whispered something into her ear, and lead her outside of the room. Nancy dug her face into Sarah's breast, and Sarah didn't seem too happy about it, though she was gently rubbing the Scout's back like an older sister would. J.J. was shielding her head, though she was obviously aware that everything was over, breathing slowly and her eyes closed.

Edwin looked us all in the eye, his face uncharacteristically serious. I really didn't care what he was wearing – I was too busy worried about Rebecca. “Is...is she safe to have around?”

I shot a look towards Edwin. “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?!”

“She's...” Edwin looked at me hard. “She's dangerous. To all of us. She could snap at any moment.” I was a bit impressed about him not cussing, but...was he seriously suggesting to kill off Rebecca?!

“Why would we kill her?” Russel snapped back, “Would we just fucking stone her to death?! We'd all know who did it! You'd get fucking executed, dude! JUST like Sophia!”

Edwin murmured something. “If we all took part in it...they wouldn't know who did it. Nobody would get executed. We'd be removing the most dangerous person here. Nobody's secrets would get revealed.”

“SERIOUSLY?!” I screamed, rising out of my seat, absoluetly fucking **furious**. “You want to kill her?! You want to be just like Sophia?! And you want US to take part in it?! She's not a fucking dog, you can't just put her down! She's...” I scanned my brain for the right word to use. “She's my **friend** , and you're going to have to go through me if you even want to fucking **look** at her!”

And then, Samson said the fucking worst thing I've heard him say.

“I...think we'll think about it.”

“What?!” I roared. “You ACTUALLY want to fucking do this?! I...” I banged the table as hard as I could in frustration, causing the sound to resonate throughout the dining room. My eyes were being stretched as wide as they could from the rage traveling through my veins, and my teeth were held so tight together that I felt like they were going to break.“Who the FUCK are you to say who lives or who fucking dies? You know what? I'm getting the **fuck** out of here.” And with that, I threw the only thing in my way, my chair, on the floor and stormed out, slamming the door as hard as I fucking could to separate myself from the fucking _monsters_ on the other side.

As soon as I was in the hallway, I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

Rebecca. I had to find Rebecca and see if she needed help. That's what friends do, right? I've never had a...wait, are we friends or partners? Is there a difference? Fuck it, I needed to find her.

She wasn't in the hallway, or the second floor, or the T.V. room, store room, bathroom, anywhere else. I then remembered we had a second wing available, and checked there, and going through all of the rooms until I entered the game room.

Nobody was in the room at first glance. I was about to leave, until I heard the tiniest whimper. “Who's there?”

“Jack. Rebecca, is that you?”

I saw the philanthropist’s relatively short brown hair pop up from behind the massive couch cushions, and slowly, her tired, afraid eyes came up from under it, and it was obvious that she had been crying. I walked around to the other side of the couch, trying to stand as nicely and not-murder-y as I could.

“Why are you here?” She asked, looking at me, wiping a lone tear from her face.

“I could ask that, too.”

She sighed. “Darkness helps me relax.”

I nodded. She did look vaguely calm, if sad.

“So, are you going to tell me to stop getting so mad at everyone? To treat everyone like how you'd like to be treated? Or are you going to say something else that I've heard a million times from my therapists and counselors?”

I shrugged, though I was a bit surprised – I wasn't aware it was this big of a problem for her. “I just wanted to say that you might want to avoid everyone for a while.”

She paused, looking at the floor, which was almost invisible through the darkness. “They're...planning to put down the rabid dog, aren't they?”

“None of them are going to do it. Too chickenshit.”

She nodded.

“And...uh...I guess I'm going to be here for you, y'know? I smiled, though she wasn't facing my way. “I'm not going to, like, say what those people have said to you,” Shit, what else am I supposed to say? My social skills class that I had to take because of that stupid suspension was a few years ago...”I'm just here, y'know, to talk to.”

Rebecca nodded again, breathing deeply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I didn't know what else to say, and Rebecca seemed unwilling to talk any more, so I patted her back, which she didn't respond to, and left.

I walked out just in time to see Dianna enter in. She had on her short white trench coat and a pair of black jeans, and she was hunched over, looking from side to side, eyes wide, her hands wringing together.

“Yo, Dianna!” I called, actually a bit happy to see her. “Where ya been?”

She took one look at me, gasped, and rushed towards one of the doors, I think it was too the museum, fumbling with the door a little bit.

“Dianna! Is everything alright?” I started walking faster, but by the time I took a few steps forward, she had already slammed the door behind her.

I shrugged. It was weird of her, but...I dunno. This whole thing brought all the weird out in us.

Well, I'm probably not allowed to go back to the dining room. Should I just go back to my room? Try to talk to Dianna? I dunno. Probably the first one. I made my way to the stairwell, only for someone to touch me on the shoulder, making me swirl around and come face-to-neck with Samson.

“Hey, I just want you to know...I was thinkin' out of my ass,” He said, obviously really ashamed. “I didn't mean to say that we should...get rid of Rebecca. I chewed Edwin out after I came to my senses and after you left, and...I'm just plain embarrassed.”

I was a bit relieved. “So that means you _won't_ kill her, right?”

He bit his lip for a second, avoiding eye contact, then saying, “Yeah, of course.”

Bastard.

Samson left, and I stood in the corner of the hallway, wondering that to do next. Spend time with everyone else? Read something? Fuck, something might come up. I thought about it for a moment, before making my move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was busy gaming with friends, and I ended up finishing this chapter a few minutes and one computer restart ago. Whoops!  
> Not much to say on this chapter. I'm starting to worry that I'm giving Rebecca too much spotlight. However, I think the "main girls" in the original DanganRonpa games were kinda given the focus, too. If that's not the case, though, I'll start easing Rebecca out while still making her relevant.  
> Also: Free Time vote this chapter! One to two character suggestions, with a question for both. Like last time, all Free Times will be uploaded to Pastebin afterwards.


	23. Free Time: Sarah Kingston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack hears noise.

One of the images that stuck with me the past few days was when Sarah comforted Nancy by playing songs for her on her guitar the day when...when Malcolm died. It was...nice, I guessed. I wondered if I could get her to play me anything. Did she know any _12 Feet_ or _Comic Book Murder Club_ songs? I dunno, I didn't have my phone, these past few days have been really music-less, so I just needed something to listen to.

As I looked for the musician, I started thinking about her. She said something really...weird to me on the first day, didn't she? I tried thinking about what it was, and by the time I had searched the entire mansion, I finally remembered. “ _I was hoping to see a dead body_.” Something like that, right? Was she...happy, now? She saw Sophia get fucking _slammed between a tree and the floor_. Was she glad about that?

As I approached the door to her room, really the only place she could be, I started getting a little bit pissed off, mostly at this imaginary Sarah I had made in my mind that fucking loved death. I knocked on her door. A few seconds passed. I thought about leaving, but before I turned around the door opened a tiny creak, revealing a bagged eye with a lock of frizzy crimson hair obscuring the brow, then a sigh, then the door opened all the way. “Why are you here?” She asked, her tone disappointed, making me a bit more angry.

“What, were you expecting someone else?” She shook her head, then paused and nodded. “Yeah. Well, more like….yeah.”

“Well, can I come in?” I said, getting kind of impatient. She shrugged, stood aside, and let me into the room, and when I entered, she slowly closed the door, and I suddenly felt hands around my waist, patting down until she got to my hips, then something digging into my pocket, and pulling out my pocket knife.

_“_ _Seriously?”_

“You can't be too careful.” I responded.

She placed the knife on the bed, and sat down next to it, close enough that I wouldn't be able to grab it without touching her and probably getting a guitar smashed on top of my head for my trouble. I didn't know where to sit that would be comfortable for her, so I stood by the door.

“So, who were you waiting for?” I asked, maybe prying a bit too much.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Nancy's starting to act like a duckling, or something like that. Following me around, hugging me whenever she's scared...she's getting too attached, really,” She paused for a second as she picked up her guitar that was leaning against the wall, before she shook her head and looked at me. “Not that that's a bad thing. I mean, uh, she found someone she can trust, or something, I, uh...forget I said anything,” She tuned her guitar a bit, before sighing. “Well, do you wanna hear a song or something?”

“Know anything by _Comic Book Murder Club_? _Underground Market_? Uh... _12 Feet?_ ” I asked, leaning against the wall, trying to think of any other bands I liked while staring at the two golden records hanging on her wall. However, before I could say anything else, she interrupted me.

“Really? _Comic Book Murder Club_? The band that middle-schoolers listen to when they want to feel edgy and nonconformist?”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring that I did start listening to them in middle school. “They're good. They have good lyrics. They have a good sound.” Too be honest, trying to describe music was something I wasn't, well, good at.

She gagged. “Good lyrics? Yeah, because _'Stop moving, stop breathing, start giving a fuck that your throat is bleeding'_ is some grade-fucking-A poetry. Or what about the fact that one of their songs is literally just titled ' _Kill Nuns'_?” She glared at me, saying words with a precision that was intended to provoke me, and it was starting to work. “And their sound isn't 'good' – it's not even original. There was a Canadian post-rock band called _Beneath Us, The Beast Sleeps_ that had two-guitar rock on fucking lockdown back in the early nineties, before Brent Earnst and the rest of _Comic Book Murder Club_ were even twinkles in their dad's eyes. They're basically the band for kids who say 'I hate everyone equally' and draw guns in the fucking margins of their notebooks, the ones who wear black long coats to school and play the newest _Kill$port_ game when it comes out just because it's fucking edgy as _shit_.”

I bared my teeth. “Well, aren't you one of those kids, huh?! Didn't you want to see a dead body whenever I fucking fainted on the first goddamned day?" I grunted, trying to think of what else that would provoke her. "Well, you got your fucking wish!”

Sarah looked genuinely shocked at my remembrance, before her eyes narrowed. “I didn't mean it like that, you _prick_.”

“Well, what the fuck did you mean?! Your first thought when you saw me pass out was 'Oh boy, I hope he fucking DIES'?!”

“I...” She was breathing faster, shaking her head. “No, I was trying to be funny, you stuck-up piece of shit.”

“That's fucking funny to you? Someone dying?”

“No, I thought…you know what? If you're going to keep yelling at me, why don't you just fucking leave? And take your little toy with you, asshole.” She picked up the knife that was almost under her thigh and tossed it at me, which I barely caught, and I shook my head, turning around, leaving and slamming the door behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like last free times, I'm uploading two chapters at once. Next chapter after this will be coming as soon as this one is uploaded.


	24. Free Time: Weston Sailors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two people discuss the inner machinations of fashion modeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: There's a chapter before this! Go read that one if you want. It really doesn't matter.

To be honest, I didn't know a lot about Weston. I knew he was America's Hearthrob. He had an interest in fashion. He...went to see a corpse. That's about it. I didn't trust everything I read about him online what I could remember, anyway since it was likely all from press release by his agents. This would probably be my only chance to ask him whatever I wanted without a lot of bullshit in my way.

I found him in the “closet” (I guess), staring at the racks of clothes, pulling out a thick grey jacket, looking at the tag, and smiling to himself.

“Weston!” I called out, smiling as best as I could. Weston looked at me, returned my smile, and put the jacket to his side. “What's up?”

“Why, hello there!” He chimed, looking pleasant. “What brings you here?” He didn't seem to be phased by my outburst this morning, which I guess was good.

“I mean, I, uh...” I started, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess I just wanted to hang out with you, y'know? I barely know anything about you.”

He kept smiling, but he quickly darted his pupils to the door. “Oh, uh, well, that's unexpected...I thought I was relatively well known?”

“Well, I know the stuff that the media tells us. Like, your T.V. shows, movies, stuff like that. I...uh, they don't tell us about the person behind those, y'know?”

Weston giggled to himself, maybe a bit too nervously. “You're starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist, doubting the media and all that. Which is fine! Everyone has their own beliefs.”

“I-I'm not like that. I was just wondering if you'd, like, tell me about yourself.”

Weston thought for a moment, then nodded slowly to himself. “Well, I'm 17, I've lived in New York City all of my life, my father acts as my agent…' He put his hand to his chin and kept thinking. “I like volunteering at local shelters for the homeless, I enjoy watching films and exercising, I enjoy listening to light jazz and pop, I have a private tutor...oh, what else? I have a fondness for animals, I'm often described as 'caring' and 'compassionate', and...well, I believe those are all the things I put in my modeling portfolio. Is that sufficient, Jack?”

“I...guess?” I shrugged again. “I mean, this really ain't an interview. What kind of stuff _don't_ you put in it?”

Weston sighed and looked at me. “Oh...a lot of things...” He said, like it was an in-joke we had between us. “I...” He began, before suddenly switching his voice's tone entirely and rattling off something he obviously already had prepared. “Well, I've had all of my body hair removed via laser. My annual income is around seven figures, before taxes. I like to collect dolls – older fashion ones are my favorite. I quite like that one, but my dad says it would make me seem too effeminate. However, most of my modeling is for rather effeminate things – high-end fashion, male cosmetics, cologne...”

“Oh, so your dad, uh...” I tried thinking of the best way to phrase what I was thinking, before Weston interrupted me.

“Jack, I know what you're thinking, and that's not the case,” He said, still smiling, though a bit accusatory. “My father is homosexual, quite accepting, and he is happily married. He just thinks that putting certain things in my biography would keep less...well, it would keep me from getting hired. I don't think that's true, since I have quite the name in the modeling business, and, like I said, the kind of work I specialize in is suited to my tastes.”

I nodded when he mentioned his dad. “Sorry.”

Weston could obviously tell that the conversation had died, and tried bringing something else up. “Didn't you say in an interview once that your mother was homosexual?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded, mostly to himself, something on his mind. A minute or so passed, and I think I knew what he was thinking of.

“I mean, it's probably a coincidence,” I tried reassuring him. “Two people in here have gay parents. That's not why we were kidnapped.”

Weston nodded again. “That's...not really what I was thinking, but I'm glad you believe that.”

“What are you thinking?”

Weston, suddenly, glared at me. “None of your concern.”

“Uh, alright.”

Weston kept thinking to himself, then started looking at the jacket he had folded over his arm. I could tell I wasn't really wanted anymore, so I excused myself and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I'd upload the rest of the Free Times at this point, but...they're not all done. Shit. I'll probably upload them to Pastebin after this in-fiction day.  
> Not a lot of substance this week. Sorry! I tried making these Free Times interesting while also being bite-sized, and my goal is to share at least one fact about the world or the story's universe with each one, or at least ask a question for you, the reader. I'd like to know if I've succeeded!  
> (Also I might be a bit heavy-handed with political stuff this chapter. I'm trying to keep this fic as non-partisan as possible, but last Episode kinda...well, it threw that idea away.)


	25. Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something is theorized.

After a several hour long haze of socialization and 'friendship', I eventually found myself in the main hallway, wondering what to do next. My questions were answered when I saw Samson coming at me, his shirt stained with what I hoped was food. He stood in front of me, smiling, hands crossed in front of his chest.  
“Hey! Dinner's gettin' served right now, if you wanna come on down to the dining room, that'll be grand.” He then left, ducking back into the dining room. I shrugged to nobody and started to follow him, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah coming out of the stairwell door, staring at her I.D. like it was her regular phone, probably trying to tell the time. Our previous 'interaction' briefly went through my mind, and I kinda felt bad for blowing up at her. I made my way towards her, and she passed by without noticing me, before stopping in her tracks, slowly looking behind at me, then sighing and crawling towards me, trying her best to not look at me.   
“Uh, I'm sorry,” She almost-whispered, not noticing that we were the only two people in the hallway. “For, uh...you know why.”  
I nodded. “I...I guess it's cool….” I paused, then realized that I kinda was being a dick, too. “Yeah, I'm sorry too, for, uh, y'know, yelling at you.”  
She smiled a little bit, still not looking at my eyes, hands clutched tightly around her guitar strap, then turned towards the dining room door. Figuring I was already going that way, I followed her.

The 13 spots of the table each had a plate of...something...in front of them. It looked like a blend of red and whitish yellow, around the size of a few scoops of ice cream big, though it was an almost perfect cube. I sat down in my normal place, between Dianna and an empty place where Malcolm used to sit, though I tried to not think about that too much.  
“So, what's this?” I turned my head towards Samson and smiled, actually glad that I wasn't eating another fucking M.R.E.  
Samson grinned warmly, poking at the thing with his own fork. “My interpretation of a beef and cheese lasagna, usin' whatever the heck I could find in the kitchen. That means the meat 'n' cheese's imitation, but that's all I could find.”  
I nodded, not caring that it wasn't the real stuff, and took a great bit bite. It was still one of the best fucking things I had ever tasted, and within a minute it was all gone.  
“Damn, slow down.” Russell chuckled, though his was mostly gone, too.  
Samson looked a bit ashamed.“Yeah, sorry 'bout that, it's all I could find.”   
Caroline, now sitting next to Gordon in Sophia's empty seat, instead of by Rebecca, shook her head. “Nobody is doubting you, Samson. You are really doing all that you can, and we appreciate that.” Everyone else, including me, mentioned some sort of agreement.  
Edwin noisily swallowed his last bit of food, then threw his fork down on the plate, leaned on the table, and stared at one or two people, I wasn't able to trace his eyes. “So, have the smarter people here figured out the asshole behind this shitshow?”  
Rebecca sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I've given some thought to that...Franklin, what do you know about Dr. Alexander Welling?”  
Franklin snapped to attention, staring into space, his knee bouncing. “B-born in 1959...graduated from Western New Hampshire University in 1980 with a major in Mathematics...sta-started teaching in 1981...Masters in 1984...became superintendent of...a school district in New Hampshire in 1999...” He shifted his gaze and mumbled, “P-pawn for the – no, it's not true, re-remember...,” something that, really, only one other person could hear since I was sitting a space away from him, and we were sitting at the far end of the table. “I...uh...other t-than his accomplishments I c-couldn't find much about his p-personal life online. His Netionary page only has his accomplishments...he just d-didn't really exist before...before his selection to become superintendent of Columbia National Academy early last year...”  
I saw everyone around us look obviously impressed. I was a bit concerned. What was the thing he corrected himself on? The thing that wasn't 'true'? I guess I could ask him about it later.   
“Wow, man, how did you know all that?” Russell eyes were wide, and he was slightly leaning forward.   
“I...uh...” Franklin's eyes were shuffling around, his teeth gritted like he hated what he had to say next. “I'm...interested in t-these sort of...things...”  
“Why are you asking Frank about this?” Asked Westin, surprisingly not smiling, more curious than anything else. “And how did you know he knew?”  
Rebecca crossed her arms, apparently confident in her answer. “Well, Franklin just seems to be very knowledgeable about world affairs, but – think about it. All anyone knows about Welling is what Franklin told us – his doctorates and occupation and all that. He wasn't interviewed by anyone from his appointment as the superintendent of the Columbia National Academy program to the last day we were in the real world – the day before school started. Nobody knows anything about him.”  
Caroline sighed. “What exactly are you getting at?”  
Rebecca shot daggers at the psychologist, the tension rising between them. “It's just an idea I had...Welling is a ghost. Nobody knew about him except for the people in his school district. We don't know where he came from. Maybe he mad motivation to kidnap 15 students of his and place them in a little game of his invention.”  
There was silence, then Edwin rubbed his hand against his face, and released a tired sigh. “That is abso-fucking-lutely the _dumbest_ shit I've ever heard.”  
“That is a bit silly...” Mumbled Samson.  
“No! Think about it!” I could tell Rebecca was getting angry. It's been, what, five days? Six? Didn't they know not to get her angry? “He kept us for the silly 'interviews' – something which, I should mention, was _not_ mentioned until two weeks before school started...Jack, how long was your interview?”  
I shrugged, trying to remember. “I dunno, five minutes. We talked about, like, how I knew about the other country's schools, uh...well, he was just kinda really being a dick.”  
Rebecca quickly scanned everyone in the room, before she turned towards someone else. “Gordon, how long was yours?”  
He shook his head. “Couldn't have been more than five minutes.”  
“And we all were the last 15 people to be interviewed at all, according to the schedule at the receptionist's desk. Mr. Producer mentioned at the first meeting that we were all _hand selected_ to participate in this game...Welling chose us to participate in the game, then scheduled us as the final interviews. It explains why they weren't alphabetized, or organized by state, or anything. He made us wait five minutes for them to prepare the knockout gas, then had the first person get on the elevator, knocked them out, dragged their body out of the basement, sent the next person up, had _them_ wait five minutes for the cycle to start again...”  
“Yes, but,”, Caroline started, adjusting her glasses before crossing her arms. “Why Welling? What would drive him to create this whole place, wire it with cameras, manage to find a way to broadcast it to every channel in America, then transport them to this mansion, off of one of the most secure campuses in the nation, and hope he doesn't get found out immediately?”  
“ **He's the only lead I have!** ”Rebecca snapped, her eyes wide. “Maybe some terrorist cell forced him to! Maybe he's just a sick **fuck**! But...one way or another, he's behind this, maybe with a crew of video editors and technicians and stagehands, and he's going to _pay_.”  
We all shut up, due to Rebecca's sheer ferocity and confidence about it. Franklin was nodding, scribbling in a notebook that I hadn't noticed before. Dianna was still jittery, but she was surprisingly sitting next to me. Everyone else was in various stages of disbelief, until Samson tried to speak in a calm, reasoned voice -   
“Rebecca...you're losing your mind.”  
She looked like someone had just stabbed her in the stomach with a hot knife, with all the anger of someone who would then try to pull that knife out and start stabbing the attacker with it. “ _ **I'M**_ LOSING MY MIND?! WHY THE **FUCK** SHOULDN'T I BE?! I'm - “ Somehow (and thankfully), she managed to catch herself before she flew off the handle, closing her eyes, sitting back down in her seat, and took breaths through grit teeth. “ **Listen** – if you all want to sit around and pretend like this mystery won't get unsolved – fine by fucking me, I'm leaving.” She pulled out her chair, stormed to the door, exited, and slammed it shut with all of her fucking might, causing all of us to jump.  
We didn't spend that much time silent – after a minute or so, Edwin cleared his throat. “We...we each grab a club from that big museum place...we catch her in the hallway...we beat her to death. All together. Nobody knows who strikes the killing blow. It's fucking foolproof - none of us will get killed, we'll get rid of the most dangerous person here-”  
“SERIOUSLY?!” I yelled, my blood fucking on _fire_. “You wanna KILL somebody just because she can't control her temper?! And 'nobody knows'?! Look at Russel! He'll break her spine in one fucking blow! And how do you know that robot won't just fucking kill all of us?! Do you really wanna fucking risk that?!”  
“IT'S THE BEST OPTION WE HAVE!” I looked to see who said that, and...Samson. Samson was fucking _advocating murder_. “We can't risk having her any more! And I'd be the first person to try to propose a non-violent solution, but...when an animal's rabid, you gotta keep it from harmin' the others!”  
“She's NOT RABID! Christ, she's a PERSON! She can reason, a-and... **shit**!” I could feel my temperature rising higher, my breath becoming more rapid and more fucking _angry_. “How about we just talk to her, huh? Rather than beating the shit out of her and getting all of us fucking killed?!”  
Nancy was hiding into Sarah's hoodie again, and the musician stood up, holding the scout close, and took her out the door, with her guitar case loosely held by it's strap in one hand.   
After seeing that, I took the chance I was given. “Look, are you really going to make a 14-year-old kill someone? Run the risk of getting her killed? What if Nancy hits first and Mr. Producer says that she's going to die? Not to mention we might ALL **FUCKING** _ **DIE**_! So just keep your HORSESHIT to yourself and stop trying to...fucking murder someone!” I slammed my fists on the table, my breathing becoming forced since I forgot to – I wanted to devote all of my fucking energy to screaming.  
“Shut the **FUCK UP!** ” Edwin screamed, his already high-pitched voice breaking. “She's dangerous! And you're starting to look dangerous too! If you're smart, fucking CONFORM!”  
I was about to shout something back, but someone, a girl, yelled out - “Just – **STOP!** ” I looked to the right of me -Dianna was holding her head and in her hands, her eyes wide, teeth bared. “No! We're not killing anyone! Nobody else is dying! We-we're not going to kill anyone!” She kept repeating, and she kept getting quieter, rocking in her seat. I started getting calmer – more for her sake than anything else.   
I sighed, trying to cool down my body, and leaned my head on my hand, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I was thinking. “Edwin...you're an idiot. Samson, you're…you're an asshole. Rebecca...she's not an animal. Talk to her **like a person** next time she gets angry, or something.” I got up from my chair, sighed, feeling the bags under my eyes. “I'm leaving, and you all...” What to say that sounded nice and mean? “Grow the fuck up.”  
I left, slamming the door just like Rebecca did, and decided that it wouldn't help finding her – she likely just went up to her room. Eh, I was tired. Might as well do that too.  
I ran up to my dorm, worked the lock, and decided to take a shower to calm down, and because I hadn't taken one yet. The feeling of the hot water against my skin was fucking amazing, the heat somehow managing to cool my head, and I put on my regular pajamas, tried not to step on the pile of broken glass, collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep with my head not even on the one pillow they gave us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit earlier than normal, but that's because I've been having computer troubles recently and I'm about to do a system restore, so I'm uploading stuff so I don't lose it. I hope it works, otherwise I'll have to get a new laptop, (which, honestly, has been a long time coming.)  
> Free Times are available at the following week: http://pastebin.com/KLfrW4P1  
> I'm so glad that there'll be only 10 ones to do next Episode. I got really close these past two week - I just finished the last one a few minutes ago.  
> Also, I hope everyone has a good Labor Day! I know I will - if my laptop troubles cease. Please keep me in your prayers if you do that!  
> (Text's also fucked up this week, but every time I delete
>     
>     
>     , it deletes ALL THE LINE BREAKS. I don't have time to fix that! This chapter was long!)


	26. Shoved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is momentarily displeased, then permanently scarred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big announcement in the End Notes, but the tl;dr of it is that this fic is going on a relatively short hiatus (2+ weeks) since I literally won't be able to work on it.

“Good morning, my lit-little freaks of nature! It's now Day Time. Let's try to make today entertaining for our loyal viewers!”

I woke up relatively pissed, and with a headache – two great tastes that taste fucking _fantastic_ together. Thankfully, I still had that bottle of painkillers by my bed – two of those dulled the pain really quickly. I also noted that I didn't have a nosebleed. At least one thing was going alright for me.

I shambled out of bed, caring not to step on that small, painful pile or broken glass and torn paper, shoved on a pair of black jeans that were _tastefully_ torn, threw on a t-shirt with the logo of Horizon Motorsport on it that, I didn't even realize, had blood-colored fabric, put on my leather jacket with the greatest of care, and stepped outside into the world that was awaiting me with my I.D. and knife in my pocket.

I was either the first one out or the last one out. Either way was great. The lights were full and bright, slightly irritating my eyes, and I kept my eyelids tiny and squinted until I got used to the glaring bulbs that shot lasers into my pupils and directly to my brain.

The stairwell wasn't as big of a challenge as the last time that I felt even close to this way – I quickly shot down the steps, the hum of the flourescent bugging my mind, but not too much.

Outside the stairwell door was Dianna, slightly trembling, and I smiled as I walked towards her. I mean, I felt awful, but I still wanted to make sure she was alright.

“Yo, Dianna! I called as I stepped right up by her shoulder. She was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with some sort of white top underneath it, jeans, and her messenger bag was still hung loosely around her shoulder. She looked towards me with big, scared eyes, gripped the top flap of her bag, and stared directly into my soul. “Hey, is everything cool?” I asked, actually really concerned for her. She didn't seem too, well, put-together – was it the secret she got? Fuck if I know.

The journalist nodded, avoiding eye contact, hands still on top of her bag. “Ye-yeah...” She said, in the tiniest, unsure-ist voice.

“Uh, alright,” I rolled my eyes. Didn't feel like dealing with trauma this early in the morning – or, well, ever. “Well, you know where to find me if you need help – or, uh, Caroline, I guess.”

She nodded again, and slowly crept towards the dining room door. I followed her, though I moved pretty quicker, and held the door open for her since I fancy myself to be a nice guy. She looked my way and smiled weakly.

Everyone else was in the dining room – which was good. I noticed that whenever I saw what appeared to be everyone, I was starting to count heads. We still had 14 – er, 12. Let's hope it stays that way - though it probably won't.

I sat down next to Dianna, who was still making herself seem small – hands in lap, back hunched slightly, head really low, not looking at anyone – and I looked at everyone else – mostly awake, except for Edwin nodding off in his chair, still in a pair of black pajamas.

“Di, is everything alright?” Asked Weston, wearing a thin orange v – neck and a single earring in his right ear. “You seem...timid. That's not like you.”

Dianna looked at Weston, nodding quickly. “It's fine. Everything's fine.” She quickly almost-whispered, biting her lip afterwards.

“Uh, alright…” Sarah wiggled her mouth, like she wanted to shake her head but didn’t want to seem rude. She had on a black jacket with some sort of army insignia on the shoulders – maybe a family heirloom, most likely something she picked up from a surplus shop – with a thin white hoodie under it, and a big pair of black jeans.

 Russell leaned back, putting his massive arms behind his head like big pillows made out of flesh and tight skin. He had on a sleeveless red jersey with some sort of golden insignia and cutoff jeans. “So everyone sleeped alright, yeah?”

Everyone agreed in their own little way., except for Edwin, who was storing loudly, so J.J., with an orange sleeveless shirt, baggy shorts, and her hair tied up,  smacked the Grandmaster on the back of the head to wake him up. His eyes went wide, and he stared staring into her eyes angrily and grumbled several curses that didn’t really form a good sentence.

“Well…I’ve been thinking…” Samson started, before cutting himself off after he glanced at Rebecca. He had on a white button up, black slacks and black suspenders. “No, nevermind.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She was wearing a grey sweater vest, a black tie, and a white shirt with slacks. “Go ahead, Samson.” She said, but her tone made it seem forced.

“Well…uh…” Samson stuttered. “We don’t have that long until the secrets are revealed. So…I was thinking that we should…uh…everyone should say the secret they got, and if you wanna fess up that it’s yours, go ahead.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Why don’t you start?” Recommended someone, I didn’t see who it was.

“Uh, alright,” I started. “Well, I got that whoever it was has been in rehab.”

There was silence. Everyone eyed everyone else accusingly, and I just shrugged.

“Samson, er…” Caroline looked a bit disappointed. She had on what appeared to be a school uniform – white shirt, black plaid tie, and a long skirt with a matching pattern, with some sort of golden logo on top of the shirt’s breast. “Not everyone would be okay with just admitting to their secret, depending on how awful it is. We could start with a slightly less inflammatory one…for example, the secret I received was…erm, I believe it was…” She looked conflicted, like she just realized that the secret she received was actually pretty fucking terrible. “Nevermind.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, then Gordon cleared his throat. He had on a blue wife beater that showed off a slightly surprising set, if small, set of muscles.“ Dianna, how ‘bout you? You seem like you have somethin’ to get off your chest, huh?” He said, obviously something he wanted to say since she came in.

Dianna’s eyes went wide, and she started breathing faster and shaked her head rapidly. “No! No no no no no…” She rambled as she started shaking a little bit.

“Dianna, is everything alright?” Caroline leaned forward, looking at the journalist in the most comforting way she could, before standing up, striding over to Dianna, and leaning over, slowly and quietly speaking to her, something that I could barely hear. _“I’ll speak to you in my room. Follow me.”_ Dianna nodded, rising slowly and being led by the psychologist out of the dining room.

Samson sighed. “Why can’t we have a nice meal as friends anymore?”

Friends? I thought about it for a moment. If we were friends, then Malcolm would still be with us and Sophia wouldn’t have snapped. If we were friends, then I would trust any of these guys more.

Rebecca grumbled. “We were never friends in the first place.”

Westin smiled, of fucking course, and spoke soothingly. “Well, I fancy us as friends in a bad situation.”

“That’s an understatement.” Sarah mumbled.

“Well…uh…” Samson shrugged. “Before we get any more depressed…maybe we should disband for now. Let everyone do their own thing.”

Franklin nodded. He had on a wrinkly blue button-up shirt and grey pants. “That…it’s agreeable.”

Everyone else agreed, and we all sort of got up and left as a group.

I had nowhere else to go. Should I hang out with more people like I did yesterday? Spend time with myself? Get shocked on the door and let the day just fly past? That last option would probably get me killed, but it’d make time go faster…you know what else would make the day go faster? Watching a movie.

I entered the T.V. room, ignoring Edwin by the tables playing chess, and just as I sat on the couch, I saw Weston enter, smiling wide. I sighed, trying not to look too annoyed – though I was looking forward to have the time to myself.

“Hello, Jack!” He chimed, bouncing over to the side of the couch. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing.” I said, unable to keep myself from rolling my eyes.

“Oh, you shouldn't watch nothing,” He paused, thinking for a little bit, before adding, “You know, a lot of people say television and movies rot your brain, but watching nothing is worse. When you watch something entertaining, you're, well, entertained, but when you watch nothing, you're stewing with your own thoughts. You think about all the bad things instead of having film and television remind you of the good things in life,” He smiled, obviously unaware of how dumb what he was saying sounded. “That's why everything has a happy ending – to remind you of why life is good.”

I 'accidentally' rolled my eyes again. Did he seriously think that was, like, profound? It seemed like the answer of an air-headed beauty pageant participant in the question round - which, given Weston, was probably where it was from. “That's, uh, one way of looking at it.” What about us, huh? We were on a T.V. show. Would we have a happy fucking ending? I doubted it.

“Well, what do you plan on watching?” He asked, walking over and standing by the cabinets of movies, apparently ready to grab one and place it in the player.

“Uh...” I groaned. “I dunno, something long and exciting.”

“Well...” He scanned the shelf, grabbing a case apparently after a lot of consideration. “ _Brass_ is a drama about how war can tear apart a family, starring Gene Carr and Evelyn Nichols, two of the greatest English actors in the past 70 years. It was originally produced in 1958 and was a phenomenal success in every market, even with a running time of 160 minutes. Does that sound good?”

I shrugged. Didn't sound too interesting, but whatever. “Pop it in.”

“With pleasure!” He said, working the player surprisingly quickly, locating and picking up the remote from the cabinet underneath the T.V., and carefully sitting down on the other end of the couch. He turned the electronics on, navigating a movie menu that showed black-and-white film snippets while triumphant music played, with the words _Brass_ above all the different options that all sounded absolutely fucking boring.

“Oh, is that _Brass_?” Dianna came in, carefully closing the door behind her.

“Of course! One of the greatest wartime dramas of the 20th century.” Weston excitedly said, apparently reminding himself about how fucking great this film was.

“That’s my parent’s favorite movie…can I watch it with you?”She kinda said, kinda whispered, still apparently shaken up, but obviously calmer.

“Oh, absolutely.” Westin pat the cushion next to him, and Dianna walked over and sat, clutching her bag, and sat down in the middle between the two of us. Weston started the movie.

I was…it was alright? I had no idea what was going on. I guessed that it took place in the 1940’s or earlier. First, the guy fell in love with this girl in whatever the British version of high school was, then the guy got drafted into the war, but it didn’t get to the war  - there was 30 minutes of him saying goodbye to everyone, getting on a train, reading a letter by the girl and crying – around that time, Samson came in, looking serious.

“Dianna, can I come talk to ya?” He asked, not caring that we were in the middle of a movie that I really didn’t care about.

Dianna looked around nervously, then sighed. “I-I suppose.” She got up and slowly made her way to the door, and Samson slowly closed it.

I sat through ten more minutes of boring war shit – the guy going through boot camp, and the girl deciding to become an army nurse, a lot of crying. Whee!

Then, I heard the door open, and Russell’s voice came from the right. “Yo, Jack, wanna play somethin’?”

I looked at Weston, like I needed permission to leave. He smiled and nodded like he didn’t really mind, if he did at all.

“Sure,” I said, standing up. “A-L-F?”

He nodded, and we exited the T-V room, leaving Weston to enjoy his boring movie in peace.

“I call Vacquero’s.” I said. I haven’t played the American League of Football game in a while, and if this was the newest version, then I’d probably lose, but it’d still be fun. Fun's pretty hard to come by, nowadays.

“You’d be the only one who’d want ‘em.” He laughed, slapping me on the back, probably leaving a big red mark.

The two of were silent for the few seconds it took to get to the second wing, but it was only a few seconds, so I didn’t care., but when we were almost to the game room, I stopped dead in my tracks – the door to the toy room was open, and J.J.  was standing frozen in the doorway. I looked for a second, and then looked back at Russell, trying to communicate without speaking that I wanted to check it out. He nodded.

“Yo, is everything cool?” I said, and she didn’t respond – instead, she just slowly crept into the room, and I could barely see more of what made her stop – there was a trail of something bright and absolutely fucking horrifying to see leading from the space of floor close to the right table to the right toy chest – something that I had to hope wasn’t blood, but there was **no fucking way** it wasn’t.

“What's going on?” Russell pushed his way past me, still frozen in fear, then paused, his mouth open. “What... _the_ _fuck_?!”

J.J. was already by the toy chest, a pink, wooden box with a rounded lid, her trembling hand over the top. “I...should I...” Her voice was wavering between Western and New England. “Should I-I open it?”

I stood frozen, not answering her question. My mind was going through a million different questions – _What’s in there? Who's in there? Is it someone? What if it's an arm? A leg? Should I open it? Should I let someone else open it? What if it's a prank? No...it smells to real to be a prank._ The stench of whatever-the-fuck was getting to me – I just wanted to get this shit over with. “I'll open it.” I said, and without waiting for anyone to get out of my way, I walked over and unlatched the hooks keeping the lid of the chest secure, and lifted the top.

And I came face-to-face with a dead-eyed Samson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like last chapter, I'm uploading this early, due to some bad news.  
> However, first, some good news - I finished this chapter way early, as in 'within two days of uploading the last chapter' early. It gave me time to get a pretty damn good start on the next one, and I'd like to think that I'm around 75% done with it, if not more.   
> Now, the bad news - I won't be able to write or work on this fic for around two weeks, maybe more. After tonight, I literally won't have any computers other than my smartphone. My desktop, apparently, got struck by lightning, (I wish I was kidding. I hope I'm kidding.) and shorted out or something, and I'm bringing my laptop in to repair the hard drive in a few hours. (Thankfully, everything that I've wanted to keep is already on an external hard drive, including every last bit of writing I've done on this laptop.) Because of this, this fic will be on a relatively short hiatus. I'll post in a comment when I have my laptop back, and you can expect the next chapter next Friday evening.  
> I realize I'm kinda keeping this on a cliffhanger, but this whole ordeal really struck at a bad time.


	27. Injury Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns intimate details about someone's life.

His eyes were lazy, dull, rolled down and to the side. His mouth was open, some blood covering his lips, and almost hanging completely open. His black hair was messy, with noticeable specks of blood, skin, and bone near the back, and his shirt collar, especially near the back near his neck, was stained with that terrible color.  His shirt was wrinkled, with several small puncture wounds, all with blood stains oozing down and clashing against the white fabric, looking like there was more blood than cloth. His arms and legs were crumbled, possibly broken, with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs curled like he was sitting cross-legged.

Samson M. Dalane was absolutely dead.

The air of the room was suddenly filled with the crackles of static, suddenly forming into a loud siren – something like an air-raid siren or something that’d be played in a time of war, piercing my skull through both ears and stabbing my brain due to how _fucking loud_ it was.

I saw a shadow appear over Samson, and then the sound of someone audibly gagging. Someone said something and another shadow came up, before they tried talking again but I didn’t hear a fucking word – I just kept staring at Samson – his body, looking at the wounds, the blood, the bits of skin and bone, stuff that was smaller than your fingernail but stuck out, making themselves seem bigger and as bright as fucking neon signs. I kept staring, looking, gawking at him for a minute, maybe an hour, maybe a day, before two hands came over my shoulders and pried me away, dragging me a few feet, sitting me down in one of the tiny, multicolored chairs, and I kept staring ahead, trying to even realize that he wasn’t alive anymore, that we’d lost someone else, that he was obviously _fucking murdered,_ we’d have to sit through another execution – it took another minute for it all to make sense. I felt my neck give away, and caught my head with my hands.

Then I noticed the blood right in front of me – it wasn’t _right_ in front of me, it was halfway across the room, but right then my vision went as clear and focused as it’s ever been, and I was able to make out all the blood in a thick, long puddle on top of the wooden, bright–colored shapes, all the flecks of bone and skin and strands of hair floating in it, the trail leading from the large puddle to the chest, coating the front of it and giving the faces of the happy unicorns on it masks of this awful color.

As I was staring at the puddles in pure horror, I suddenly saw a face in front of me – someone who I was able to recognize but who’s name wasn’t coming to me – staring into my eyes, their hand on my shoulder, saying something to me, before turning around and yelling something at the group of people suddenly in the room, pulling me out the door, and staring into my face.

Rebecca. She was looking at me behind her silver glasses, and her voice was suddenly becoming audible – “Jack?” She asked, both hands on my shoulder and her face leaning into mine. “Is everything alright? What did you see?”

The words she was saying were making sense, but at the same time I couldn’t understand a fucking word. I stood there for a few seconds, staring at her face and feeling that my mouth was slightly open. “What?” I said, hoping this feeling of mental numbness would pass soon.

She sighed. “You’re in shock. I think. Sit down, come back in the room when you’re ready.” She kinda sat me down on the floor, half forced me, and left.

I sat there, staring ahead, still unable to realize what was happened. No, wait, I knew what happened - Samson was dead – Samson was _fucking dead_ – someone had killed him – one of us killed him…I sat there as these awful reminders cycled through my mind, until I came to my senses long enough to try deep breaths, trying to remember that I’ve been through this before – didn’t make it any easier. How was I able to make through this before? I wasn’t…awake, I guessed. My mind was duller, more relaxed – now, I was high-strung, saner, sharper. I was absolutely aware of everything, what was going to happen, what the next several hours were going to be like – another person was going to die. We wouldn’t know if it was the right culprit.

I sighed. I had to get this over with. I couldn’t just sit around and wait for shit to happen. I had to get it fucking done – I had to get to the bottom of this. For Samson.

The toy room was like I had left it – blood-stained and terrifying. The camera and the gun were in the places that I last saw them in – though, too be honest, you learn to ignore them after a day or two. There was a Drone hovering, getting in close to the body, whirring in an annoying way. Rebecca was standing in front of the chest, with Gordon to the side, and Caroline standing in the corner, as far away from the two of them as she could.

“Jack, is everything alright?” Rebecca said, turning towards me, though she didn’t give me time to answer. “Here, help me get this out of the chest.”

 _‘This?’_ He had a name….it had a name. It used to have a name. I sighed, walking over, trying to place my hands on the corpse’s arms, before realizing that _I was touching a dead person_. I started breathing faster, maybe shaking a little bit, fuck if I cared. I swallowed, like I was trying to get my anxiety down by shoving it down my body, and I started lifting, trying not to pay attention to the fact that his skin was almost warm, almost cold, the fact that there was no blood pumping in his veins, that there was no sign that he was even alive in the first place. Rebecca was lifting Samson’s legs out of the chest, pulling them straight and eventually pulling up his pelvis area or whatever the bone was called. I dragged his arms out of the left side of the chest, and we eventually pulled him out from his bed of blood-stained plastic toys and stuffed animals, dragging him to the space of floor between the two chests, and spreading him out like a T.

“Samson M. Dalane, America’s Best Teenage Agriculturalist…” Rebecca sighed, leaned over, and closed the Samson’s open eyes. Sign of respect, I guessed.

Gordon exhaled deeply, looking over the body. “I’ll get to work,” He had that bundle of tools by his side, knelt down to the side of him - the body, and turned his head around. There was a massive dent on the back of his head, maybe an inch or two big and a couple of centimeters deep, the hair surrounding it coated in blood, some of it traveling down the back of his neck and coating his shirt collar, the dent surrounded by fragments of skin and bone. Gordon started feeling it with a pair of gloved hands. “I don’t think this would be enough to kill him. It’d be close, though. I think.”

“Well, that’s what they did that for.” Rebecca pointed to the multiple stab wounds on Samson’s chest, around a dozen round incisions into his flesh. It kinda pained me to look at it, for some reason, even though I’ve gotten hurt a lot and saw even more people get hurt, that kinda stuff always made me a bit squeamish – though, I’ve only seen broken bones and big gashes, not stab wounds and a busted-in head. I took my eyes off the wounds, falling on anything else I could focus on – which, in this case, was a pad of paper and a pencil on the tiny table closest to the pink, bloodied chest. I walked over Samson’s legs, something that I probably shouldn’t have done, and picked it up.

It was a list – rather, two lists, divided by pencil line. There wasn’t any title or anything. On the right side was my name – “Jack”, followed by “Rebecca”, then “Sarah”, and “Nancy?”. On the other side was “Edwin” and “Joanne Jr.” J.J.? It was all written in clean, simple handwriting.

“Jack, what is that?” Caroline walked over, and I handed the pad to her. She looked it over, tilted her head like she was trying to understand it. Rebecca walked over the body, much to Gordon’s annoyance, and tried looking over Caroline’s shoulder, and the psychologist kinda recoiled away from the philanthropist’s presence.

Rebecca sighed. “I’ve apologized, haven’t I? You know why I get the way I get – I’ve explained it to you already. Keep the little signs of fear to a minimum. I don’t bite.”

Caroline nodded, kinda forced, and handed the list to Rebecca, who stared at it even more confused. “Why are Jack and I on here? It’s like…wait, who wrote this?”

“We could ask one of the people on it.” I suggested.

“Yeah, while you dudes are doing that…” Gordon started, investigating one of the wounds on Samson’s chest. “These holes…it’s like they were made by a giant needle. One of you can look for something about…” He held up his hands about a foot apart. “This long? Something thin and pointy.”

I nodded. “So I guess that’ll be on me, huh?”

Rebecca smiled at me, kinda creepily. “Of course.”

“I will go gather alibis and find out the meaning of this list,” Caroline started, turning towards Rebecca. “I believe it would be best to stay with Jack or Gordon for now…to be blunt, not a lot of people trust you nowadays.”

Rebecca grimaced, but she didn’t say anything – she just looked at me and nodded.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening, and two more voices filled the room – Nancy and Sarah’s.

“Nancy, you don’t have to do this. It’s not pretty.” Sarah pleaded. She had a hand on the collar of Nancy’s tan-ish t-shirt.

“You told me t’ be stronger, didn’t you?” The scout snapped back. “I’ve been huntin’ before, I’ve seen dead stuff before - I can handle it!” She pouted at Sarah, not looking any further into the room.

“Okay, come on, look, it’s different from all of those. Someone…someone killed Samson, alright?” Sarah was now on kinda leaning down, eye-level with five-foot-tall girl, both hands on her shoulders like she was trying to build a wall around Nancy so she didn’t see anything in the room. “They _murdered him_. When I told you to be stronger, I meant just act more confident, not gawk at a corpse! Come on, let’s just get out of here, I’ll keep you safe until the trial.”

“Nancy, just go,” I said, seeing what Sarah was trying to say. “It’s...horrible.”

Caroline walked over to Nancy and Sarah, putting a hand on Nancy’s back. “Nancy, this isn’t the best thing to do. It carries the risk of permanent mental scarring and tramutization, and that’s not beneficial to a developing mind like your-“

“Stop treating me like a little girl!” Nancy bared her teeth and balled up her fists. “I’m in high school! One of the-the best in the world! And I-I have more merit badges and acc-accomplishments than most girls my age! So-so just shut the fu-FUCK up and treat me like a FUCKING P-PERSON!” her eyes were closed, her teeth were bared, and her chest was rapidly rising and falling, like the effort of actually cursing managed to exhaust her.

Sarah sighed. “Fine. There it is.” She let go of Nancy’s shoulders, gently spinning her towards the inside of the room. Rebecca shook her head, got out of the way of Nancy’s line of vision, leaving only Caroline in the way. She looked Nancy in her big, blue eyes, moved, before crossing her arms, looking downward.

Nancy slowly traced the trail of blood from the big puddle on the right side of the room, which I was kinda standing in front of, to the big blood-stained chest, to Samson’s splayed body. She slowly walked over, her sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor, until her toes were right against the soles of Samson’s boots.

“Okay, that’s good enough, get back here.” Sarah said, on the verge of pleading with the girl.

Instead, Nancy swallowed and stared at the body, almost like someone was forcing her to. “There’s…” She started, almost like she was unsure about what she was about to say. “Holes in his shirt. Besides the big ones.”

Gordon looked over the chest, pulling the fabric with his gloved hands, staring at the fabric. “She’s right. There’s two of them an inch or two from each wound – I mean, they’re tiny, and I think they’re at a weird angle, but they’re there. Wait, how’d you see that?”

“I’m…perceptive…” Nancy muttered, like her brain processing the sight of it was taking up all of her brain power.

“Nancy, get back here!” Sarah didn’t seem like she was fucking around, sounding like an angry mother – well, a big sister would be more accurate. Nancy closed her eyes, I wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or fear, and turned around, slowly walking back to the musician, who put her hand on the scout’s back and almost turned around before Caroline caught them.

“Both of you, wait,” she said, a bit powerfully. “Why are you on this list? Nancy, why is there a question mark besides your name?”

Sarah sighed, motioning for Nancy to get out of the room, which she didn’t, and Sarah just shook her head, turning back towards us. “Samson wanted to talk to me, like, right after we got out of the dining room – I was playing video games in that one room, I don’t know where Nancy was. He took me into here, and…he asked me if I would be willing to participate in…he wanted to kill you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca’s eyes went wide, and her mouth went open with shock. “ _What?!_ ”

“You weren’t here for that, were you?” Sarah mumbled. “After you…exploded yesterday, Edwin said that they…uh…he said that if everyone took part in…killing you, they wouldn’t know who struck the actual final blow, that nobody would die because of it, the people in charge wouldn't  know who actually killed you. And Samson was actually agreeing to it! He asked me if I would be willing to participate, he wanted to do this tomorrow or tonight, and he said that he was working with Edwin – it was Edwin’s plan, I think he said, he was just being the middleman between him and everyone, and I said fuck no. I mean, he seemed like the most pious guy here, and now he wanted to kill someone! So after he asked me, I chewed him out over it. I’m, like, agnostic, and I said ‘how could you do this, the savior told us to love everyone’, and he gave me this shit-eating grin, told me that ‘I’m more of an Old Testament guy’, and he was talking about the ‘One Bad Apple’ thing and ‘Bad company corrupts good morals’ and...” I looked towards Rebecca – her face was red and she was shaking with barely-contained anger. Nancy was biting her lip and awkwardly playing with her hands, trying to distract herself from what Sarah was saying. “And then he asked me if Nancy would be willing to participate – who does that? And I just left right then. I went and found her and I…nevermind.”

“Holy shit.” Gordon exclaimed from the back.

“You two are free to go.” Caroline said, nodding like someone in control would.

“Uh, thanks.” Sarah glanced around awkwardly, before they both left – Nancy seemed to leave out of her own power besides just being led out.

Rebecca looked towards the corpse, face still red, and she posed like she was about to kick it _hard_ , but Caroline jumped in and grabbed her shoulders tight, her tall frame contrasting with Rebecca's relatively tiny one. “Jack, you go find the weapon Gordon’s looking for, I’ll stay here with Rebecca until she calms down, then I’ll go learn everyone’s alibis.”

“Uh, yeah.” I smiled towards the two of them, something I’m sure they didn’t see, and left.

So I was looking for a thin, round, stabbing thing that could make two tiny holes on either side of the wound. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew where to start – the armory or museum or whatever.

I immediately started looking among the metal racks for something blood-stained that also fit the description Gordon gave me – nothing. I did find two things were missing among the racks, though – the big case in the middle, the one with a single rod in it – that had a dagger in it, right? I tried remembering what it looked like, but I couldn’t really recall, other than that it definitely wasn’t long and thin. The other thing that was missing – according to what I guessed was it’s infocard, it was a Japanese ‘Okinawan sai’ from the Edo period. What did those look like, again? They weren’t the throwing stars…they weren’t those diamond daggers…definitely not katanas…I tried tracing what I thought they looked like – basically a ‘U’ with a line going between it, along with a handle, right? I imagined stabbing someone with it – it was long and thin, and the points of the ‘U’ would make tiny holes on either side of the wound. “But why not use a katana?” I asked nobody. Wait, if it’s what I was thinking of…”It’s tinier. You can hide it.” I nodded to myself. I found our murder weapon, now I just had to…find it. Just to be sure, though, I looked the room over again – nothing else fit the description, and the sai or whatever wasn’t anywhere else.

I left the armory and headed towards the first place across the hallway – the closet or clothes room or whatever it was. The games room was too dark, but...dark meant easier to hide. I changed my course after realizing that, tried walking around the dark room to see if I tripped on anything – I didn't. Nothing in the couch cushions, nothing in the racks of games, I pretty much searched everywhere, did everything except getting on my hands and knees on the floor.

I went to where I originally planned, the closet – slash – clothes room, and when I saw all the clothes on the racks, the drawers in the dressers, every possible place that someone could hid a tiny, thin dagger, I realized I was running out of time – the trial could start any minute now. I started searching the different shirts and jeans and shit by jiggling them a little bit on the rack, seeing if anything felt heavy.

“What are you doing?” Russell said from behind me.

“Looking for evidence.” I grunted, before I felt a strong grip turn me around, something grab the zipper-line of my jacket , and I was face-to-face with a furious pair or eyes.

“Do you know who killed Samson?!” He yelled, and I felt his hot breath go down my neck.

“What? No!” I tried weaseling out of his grip, but it was too hard – he was too strong

 “You're friends with Rebecca!” His teeth were bared and the veins were almost popping out of his neck. “You're covering for her!”

“No! She did-didn't...” I tried thinking of something to say, but the fact that I was up against a perfectly fine metal bar that he could smash my head against wasn't helping. “She didn't know about anything! She – she – she didn’t hear what Samson or-or Edwin was saying! She has no motive!”

“Then WHY DID SHE COME OUT OF HER ROOM WITH A KNIFE?!” He was screaming now, his strong-sounding voice starting to creak, and he was shaking my body with little effort. “STOP TRYING TO COVER FOR HER!”

“WHAT?!” I screamed back, absolutely nothing making sense. She had a knife?! It was in her room?! Was it the sai or whatever the fuck it was called?!

“She had a knife in her hands after she left her room,” he said, his voice still angry, but the scary kind of angry where they sounded like they were calm. “Go and see, and say goodbye to her. We all know she did it, she's going to die today - if I don't get to her first.” He let go of me, and I actually fell an inch back to the floor – I didn't know he was actually lifting me up.

I ran out of the room and tried finding Rebecca – she was nowhere on the first floor, but I found her in the worst position after I came out of the stairwell on the second floor.

She was holding a thick, decorated dagger in one of her hands, and she was surrounded by Edwin, Franklin, and J.J., with Caroline by her side, trying to say something to her, but Rebecca was too busy screaming to hear.

“Why is it in your fucking room?” Edwin sneered. “Just tell us!”

“Because SOMEONE fucking PUT IT THERE!” She yelled back, waving the knife around, which was probably a bad thing to do, but – holy shit, she actually had a knife!

“That isn't the right kinda knife anyway!” I shoved Edwin, probably a bad thing to do. “The killer used a sai – the ninja dagger thing!”

“Stop protecting your girlfriend!” Edwin pushed back, apparently aiming at my fucking throat.

“Edwin, cut it out!” J.J. put herself between us, a hand on each of our chests. “Maybe it wasn't the right weapon, alright? Let's go down there and take a look!”

The grandmaster grumbled. “Fine.” He said, and the two of them left – well, J.J. dragged Edwin downstairs. I moved closer to my 'girlfriend', trying to seem as comforting as possible, especially because she had a knife in her hand and she was _pissed off_.

“What happened?” I asked, in a quiet tone, though my grumbly voice wasn't helping much.

Rebecca was still visibly fuming -  her face red, her teeth grinding inside her mouth. “Someone is trying to **frame me**.”

“What? How?” I asked, really fucking curious. Someone was framing someone? Could they even do that?!

“Me and Rebecca came up to here to find Dianna,” Caroline answered, still trying to comfort Rebecca to little effect. “She wasn't answering a knock to her door, so we were about to interview Edwin, but Ms. Penn took a quick trip to the bathroom in her dormitory. She apparently found the knife in her room - “

“'Apparently'? I fucking tripped on it.” Rebecca grumbled.

Caroline nodded. “Mr. Pescatore started accusing her of murder as soon as she came out with the knife in her hand.”

“That's bullshit,” I grabbed the knife from Rebecca's hand, and dangled it in front of my eyes. “This isn't the right type of knife at all.” I said, apparently an expert on knives now.

“Have you found the correct type of knife?” Caroline asked.

I shook my head. “I think it's in the closet – just a hunch, though.”

“I will continue interviewing everyone,” Caroline claimed, then pat Rebecca on the shoulder. “Rebecca, you should go with him. It wouldn't help to have you around when everyone's on edge.”

Rebecca's eye twitched, and she grumbled to herself and nodded. She pried herself free of Caroline's grip, then walked forward, before stopping right in front of Franklin and handing – well, forcing the knife into his hands, thankfully not-sharp side first. “You hold on to that.”

Franklin didn't mind the fact that a dangerous weapon was shoved onto , and started fixating on it – before staring at something on the handle. He didn't move when the two of us left.

Rebecca stomped down the staircase, producing a really ugly sound against the hard, grey concrete. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I tried reaching out without thinking. “Hey, is everything cool?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

She turned her head towards me, the light from the fluorescent shining off her glasses and completely hiding her eyes, her mouth small and twisted down. “I’ve lost all credibility I’ve been able to gain in this damn hell – and I’ve learned that at least two people are – well, were plotting to kill me. It’s safe to say that **I’m not very fucking happy.** Now, let’s go.” She went through the door, slamming it in my face. Kinda  a dick thing to do, but whatever, I just opened it back up and followed her.

We walked silently towards the clothes room, or, rather, I walked silently while Rebecca was a good five or six paces ahead of me, looking like steam should be coming out of her ears.

We reached the clothes room, and Rebecca was already combing through one half of the first rack, patting down each article of clothing instead of just jiggling the cloth, which, I mean, I guess she was being thourough, but if I had to guess, we only had thirty minutes before the trial started.

“How far did you get?” Rebecca asked, still barely containing her anger, her tense hands wrinkling and stretching the fabric of the shirts and pants and coats she was searching.

“Eh, you’re past it already,” I answered, going to one of the massive closets on the side of the room, and I slid open the thin doors, the kinds that were zig-zag shaped and, like, they went from one end of the door to the other, and…fuck, I don’t know how to describe them, but they’re kinda like that. Inside the closet was a full rack full of different…swimsuits. There were a few bikini tops and stuff on the racks, but this was more, like, all in one place. There were swimming trunks, banana hammocks, which were disgusting to see, guy thongs, bikinis, one-pieces…pretty much everything I could think of related to swimming. I heard a “Pervert.” from behind me, and sighed. “Whatever.” It’d be hard to hide a sai in one of these, so I closed the door and went to the one next to it, opened _that_ door, and found myself in front of a collection of purses, handbags, messenger bags, laptop bags…yeah, this would be it. I snapped open the first one, a grey, angular laptop bag, and felt inside – there was nothing. Second one, a tiny floral-patterned purse – nothing. Third one was a tiny purple coin purse, which I skipped. I got into this rhythm of just working the mechanism of glancing at the bag on the rack to see if it was at least bigger than what I assumed the sai would be, not even looking at the bag itself, working the mechanism, and feeling inside, until I finally felt something cold and metallic, surrounded by thin pieces of something - paper, maybe? Something that I wasn’t used to, as every other bag had been completely empty. I pulled it out of the bag, my heart beating faster than I could remember – today, at least – and I glanced at what was in my hand.

It was like a thin metal rod, with that U shape surrounding my fist and a handle above that shape. I was holding a sai –  it was obvious.

And then I noticed the blood covering the rod, and I stood there frozen. I was literally holding a murder weapon in my hands.

“Did you find it?” Rebecca came over and pulled it from my hands by the handle – something that I felt like should’ve cut me, before I realized that there really wasn’t any blade, just an obviously sharpened tip. “This…” She looked at it all over, investigating the two prongs of the U, covered in blood, along with the rod bit, also bloodied. “This is the weapon they used. Come on, we’re bringing it to Gordon.”

She dragged me across the hall to the toy room, carrying the sai against her stomach, obviously trying to hide it from anyone that was trying to see.

Gordon was drinking a bottled water by his spot on the floor, and I guessed we kinda caught him off guard, while Weston was standing with his arms behind his back, glancing over Samson’s body.

“Yo.” Gordon said, wiping his mouth and leaning back against the wall while sitting.

Rebecca gave Weston a kinda mean look, then handed the sai over to Gordon, rod first. “We found this.”

Gordon looked over the weapon with a kind of amazement. “Holy shit, this thing is antique! Shame it was used like this, this thing could fetch some sick money,” he said, dangling it in front of his eyes. “Wait, no…this thing is aftermarket. You see this bit?” He held it up, trying to put it in front of our eyes, and Westin leaned in a bit. “This part isn’t supposed to be sharpened,” he pointed to the top of the rod – like he said, it was sharpened to a tiny point, with the dark metal rod contrasting with the light grey point. “They’re supposed to be blunt. Forget why, but this would hurt the resale value – but, uh, it would hurt someone.”

“So…” Weston ‘hm’d to himself. “Would any of the blades in the armory be capable of sharpening metal to a point?”

“It’s…” I looked at Weston like he just said the stupidest thing ever – which he kinda did. “You can’t sharpen metal with any kind of knife. It’s…literally impossible.”

“So it came that way,” Rebecca concluded. “Not that I’m surprised – every damn thing in this damn mansion seems to be designed to use as a weapon.”

I looked up at the Drone that was hovering a few inches above the body and the sai. I felt like knocking it down just to see it crash, but then I glanced little bit up at the gun, and that one rule that amounted to “Don’t fuck with any cameras.”

“So, what else is there to do?” Rebecca asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

Gordon shrugged. “I’m trying to think of how this happened. My guess is that he was sitting at that chair,” he pointed to the tiny table and chair on the right side of the room. “Then the killer tackled him, banged his head against the floor – WHAM! – which is why there’s all that blood, head wounds bleed a lot,” he said, acting out smashing someone’s head, then tracing the larger puddle of blood to the slightly rectangular bit next to it. “That would’ve knocked him out pretty bad, maybe not kill him. Then… **STAB! STAB! STAB! STAB!** ” There were multiple thrusts of the sai into the air, which was kinda scary. “That, but, like, a dozen times. He’d be dead by that point – at least one of these had to hit an organ or knock out a piece of rib, maybe some internal bleeding. By the time he was shoved into that chest, he was definitely dead,” Gordon sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I’m thinking that his limbs were broken, maybe fractured a little bit, so that he could fit into it – I mean, it’s still a big toy chest, but Samson is – was a big dude. But…I don’t think it was done before hand, I’m just guessing that they were busted when the killer dude tried to force the body in – unless it was someone strong.”

I nodded, a bit glad that we had some guess about how everything went down. I mean, it was a guess, but it was still better than nothing.

“Well, what else we could do?” Asked Rebecca, growing impatient and maybe kinda off-put by Gordon’s enthusiasm.

“Where’s Caroline? How’s she coming with the alibis?” Gordon suggested.

Rebecca exhaled deeply, and her face wrinkled with anger. “We split up because…we did.”

Gordon shrugged. “Well, go find her, se -“

“ATTENTION ALL C-CONTESTANTS!” Came Mr. Producer’s electronic voice over the intercom. “The House Trial is starting soon! Get over to the elevator room! This is your second big p-plot point, so be there or be dead!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things I want to apologize for:  
> First, sorry for freaking out last week and going overboard, but, well, I literally thought I wouldn't be able to make it this week. My desktop would literally not turn on for around a day and I couldn't figure out why, so I overreacted a little bit.  
> Second, sorry for this chapter being a little bit late. Two of my favorite bands released new albums today, and I took time to listen to them. Thankfully, they were short. (Only around 10 songs each.) I also had to proofread all 10 pages of the chapter (more on that next paragraph). Also, I, uh, kinda got wrapped up in reading the TVTropes page for Warframe. Sorry!  
> I'm not sorry for this chapter being literally fucking 10 pages long, (well, maybe I am.) A lot happened in this chapter, so I had to be sure to show it all. I am sorry, though, if it seems a bit, well, schizophrenic or jumpy. Like I said, I had to fit a lot in and if I made it more "coherent" and "actually took its damn time" it'd probably be twice as long.


	28. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone admits they did something naughty.

The four of us – Rebecca, Gordon, Weston, and I – made our way towards that depressing, banged up metal door. Before we left, for a split second, I thought Samson was going to get up and follow us, but I quickly came to my senses and tried to not realize that I might be going crazy.

There were…I quickly counted heads – 10 people in front of the door, plus myself. Weren’t there supposed to be one more? Dianna, right? Just as I realized that, the intercom buzzed to life again, and all the T.V. screens around us came online, showing the completely black face of Mr. Producer, along with his glowing red tie.

“Huh, where’s the blonde chick?” There were a few electronic sounds, like buzzing with clicking, then Mr. Producer’s voice came online again. “Hiding in her roo-room, the scared little bitch. Huh, I didn’t put turrets in your guy’s rooms, did I? Well, I have been meaning to use that neurotoxin that you pump through the vents…alright, I’ll give her until the count of five…one…t-two – oh, there she g-goes! I’m surprised that the dumb bitch knew what ne-neurotoxin is.”

In a few seconds, the door to the stairwell slammed shut, and Dianna rushed out, before suddenly tripping hands-first onto the floor, breathing really fast, apparently worn out from rushing all the way down here. _“I’m…”_ She said, between gasps of air.

I put my hand in front of her, and she grabbed it with…a wet hand. Whatever. I pulled her up, and she stood on shaky legs, still holding my hand and kinda leaning against me.

“What’s up? Where were you today?” I asked, kinda whispering.

She looked up at me, smiling weakly and her eyes kinda wide. “Don’t you know?” She whispered back.

I shook my head, actually confused.  What did she mean by that? “No…no I don’t.”

She kept smiling, and shook her head.

“Alright, so is this tearful reunion done or what?” Edwin grimaced. “We got a murderer to get rid of.”

Dianna let go of my hand, leaving mine slightly damp, and I wiped it against my jeans, looking towards Rebecca. She was rolling her eyes.

There was a loud buzzer, and the door started noisily clicking and whirring before slowly coming open, disturbing Franklin, sitting on the floor with his notebook.

Nobody moved, and it finally came to me that one of us wasn’t coming out of there. It didn’t matter if we were right or wrong – one of us was going to die in there. It could be anyone. _I_ might not be coming up back that elevator.

I might actually fucking die down there.

I nodded to myself. I was going to die here, that I was sure of, but…it wasn’t going to be today. Nobody suspected me of a thing –  and I had done absolutely nothing wrong in the first place. I was safe. As far as I knew.

Around me, people were arguing. “Should we-we…go down there?” “I’m not going. Someone’s going to die!” “We have to. The fucker has neurotoxin.” “And guns!”

I ignored all that. I just walked into the room, shrouded myself in the darkness, crossed my arms, and closed my eyes., waiting for a few seconds – five, ten, whatever.

When I opened them – well, I couldn’t see shit, but I felt some people around me. Eventually, the elevator dinged, which I guess meant that everyone was here, and the doors opened, revealing that horrible chain-link cage, the mirror barely reflecting anything due to the darkness of the room. We filed into it, Russell leading the pack this time, and I leaned against the mirror, looking down at the thick mesh floor, tracing the thick metal cage under it that apparently kept the mesh from falling, and I couldn’t help but think of what was going on.

Someone killed Samson, then tried to hide him by shoving him into a toy chest – something that made me never want to look inside one again. All we really had to go on was that sai, which we found hidden in some sort of bag – which I kinda regretted not taking a closer look at which kind of bag or purse or whatever it was. And, apparently, someone was trying to frame Rebecca. Someone wanted her out of the fucking picture. But who? And who killed Samson? Was it even the same person?

My mind was blank for the rest of the thirty seconds or so until the elevator stopped, something that I was thankful for – I didn’t get a lot of peace these days, I was always being paranoid or thinking about death. I did notice, though, that even though the elevator stopped, there wasn’t any floor beneath the mesh – just more darkness. I hoped that there was floor beneath us, something that wasn’t being illuminated by the barely-there light from the bulb, but I kinda knew it wasn’t true.

The trial room – court? Whatever it was, it had the same layout - walls in a kinda angular way, covered with wood paneling instead of just concrete and wires, 15 podiums around the middle, a large judge chair with Mr. Producer’s completely still frame on it, and three television sets set up in different places around the center. Malcolm’s was the same, a cracked television with the small cracks filled in with some sort of blood – colored liquid, flashing those same images. There was another one showing images of Sophia – holding up a picket sign, at a podium with her fist in the air, stuff like that, and another one with images of Samson riding some sort of big tractor, maybe a combine, another one with him nursing a newborn pig in his arms, just stuff that made it hard to believe he was…he was trying to kill off one of my friends.

I stood at my podium, the one with my name on the flat part above the screen, still trying to think about him. Did he deserve it? No – nobody deserves having your head smashed in, being stabbed to death, and shoved inside a toy chest. His mind was in the wrong place, what with the ‘trying to orchestrate a murder’ thing, but…we could’ve talked him down, we could’ve made it right.

We can’t now.

I sighed, watching everyone murmur and uneasily stand in their places. I glanced towards Rebecca, and she gave me a quick nod, her body still shaking a bit, hopefully from anger and not fear. Gordon shrugged, a bit unsure. Caroline closed her eyes and nodded, oddly calm.

“And so begins another House Trial,” came Mr. Producer’s voice from the P.A. system. “Be smart, be civil…ah, I’m just fucking with you. Go nuts!”

Edwin grimaced, eyeing one or two people around the circle, before leaning on the podium with both hands. “So, I think we all know who committed this fucking _heinous_ crime, so how about we just skip to the execution part, huh?”

There were some confused whispers, before Sarah spoke up. “We…we really don’t know who killed Samson, do we?”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you see Rebecca comin’ out of her room with a fucking knife?”

Rebecca’s face contorted with anger in less than a second, and I jumped in before she could even get a word in – it wouldn’t look good for her. “It wasn’t even the right kind of knife, you idiot! Didn’t you see Samson – his body? Did you even fucking see the wounds?!”

J.J. sneered at Edwin. “I dragged ya down there myself, didn’t I?”

Gordon nodded. “I showed you the wounds myself, bro. What kinda knife did Rebecca have, anyway?”

Franklin chuckled to himself, before adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand. “It was…a knife owned by the Reindt family…nice an-and with a thick blade…gilded…an ‘R’ on the hilt...”

“Yeah, see?” I pointed towards Franklin, kinda unsure about half of what he just said. “The wounds on Samson were tiny, and, like, circles! That kinda knife wouldn’t make that sorta cut!”

Edwin crossed his arms, before pushing up his thick glasses. “Fine, whatever, but why the fuck did she have a knife in her room in the first place? I mean, we _all_ fuckin’ knew what Samson was sayin’ ‘bout her, right?”

There was excited speaking all around. “I mean, I guess that’s true,” mumbled J.J.. “But…was she even here for that?”

“NO, I **wasn’t**!” Rebecca yelled, her teeth bared and her eyes wide. “Because you pushed me to my breaking point and I left! I didn’t even know of you bastard’s plot until this morning!” There was a big exhale, and more speaking through her teeth. “Now let’s **please** get back to finding out which one of us here is a fucking **murderer** and stop trying to throw such horrible accusations my way!”

“But how the FUCK did it get up to your room, huh?!” Edwin was almost as angry as Rebecca.

“Because YOU slid it under the door! That’s why it was on the floor instead of any SENSIBLE place!” Rebecca snapped back, one of her eyes twitching behind her glasses.

Edwin’s face scrunched up and he started mumbling to himself, which mainly consisted of the words ‘fuck’, ‘fucking’ and ‘bitch’ in different orders.

“Alright, so, uh, that’s done, I think,” Gordon jumped in the conversation, trying to put a stop to it before it got anywhere. “Who here has some actual clues, huh?”

“We found the knife in a bag in the closet,” I said, glancing at everyone to see if anyone’s face twisted or moved. “It’s a ninja knife -  a sai.”

“What kind of bag?” Asked Caroline, calmly.

I shrugged, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t check, I just kinda got into a rhythm of checking the inside and moving on.”

Some whispers, at least one person saying “Fuck.”

“Jack, can you at least remember what else was in it?” Suggested Weston, smoothly and nicely.

“I mean, uh…” I scratched the back of my next, suddenly not welcome to being the center of attention. “Paper, I think?”

There was more talking. “What was the paper, did you check?” Sarah said, a bit excitedly.

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t think it was important. I was more, like, worried about the sai.”

She rolled her eyes, but she nodded, at least.

More talking. I wasn’t able to make out anything, really, until Caroline spoke up, her voice demanding the attention of everyone. “We also found a list in the toy room, on one of the tables. It was divided into two sections – one of them with the items ‘Jack’, ‘Rebecca’, ‘Sarah’, and ‘Nancy’, and on the other side, ‘Edwin’ and ‘Joanne Jr.’. We were informed by Ms. Kingston that Samson was gathering the names of everyone who would participate in…in a public execution of Rebecca Penn.”

Rebecca glared at Edwin, a kind of stare that showed that she was just itching to throttle him by the throat.

“H-he was…” Franklin wringed his hands, eyeing everybody. “Joanne…you were go-going to…”

“Samson was…I mean, he was yellin’ at me too!” J.J. tried defending herself, putting her hands up. “I didn’t believe in it – I mean, for the most part. But he just kept tellin’ me to, that it was the best thing, he wouldn’t let me leave, he just…I had to say yes so he would just _shut up_!”

Dianna mumbled something, but I was only able to hear “ _It…was…yeah…_ ” I don’t think anyone else heard. I had kinda gotten used to her little half-sure murmurs.

Russell leaned forward, hands on his podium like he was about to vault over it. “So did you kill him for that, huh? Since he was gonna fucking kill Rebecca?”

“I-I mean…” J.J. started, shaking her head putting one of her hands to her temple. “No, I mean, I can see where  he’s comin’ from, ya get me? But that’s a bit extreme, and he could’ve just been talked to, y’know?”

I nodded. “Yeah, whoever did this…they weren’t right in the head.” I said, trying to provoke someone into any sort of expression of guilt. Dianna trembled a little bit, and Edwin rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t Samson’s fault!” Nancy stamped her foot, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Someone was just puttin’ those thoughts in his head!” She eyed Edwin, who, again, rolled his eyes.

“Yo, why is someone against me all of a fuckin’ sudden?” He crossed his arms and looked at the camera hanging from the middle of the room. “Just ‘cause I asked some questions?”

“Because you tried to fucking FRAME somebody!” I yelled, my blood pressure rising.

“Edwin, just…” Sarah’s voice was obviously annoyed. “Stop talking, we’re not trusting you anymore.”

“Not trusting me?” He laughed to himself, pissing me off even more. “Why not the girl who threatened to kill people, huh? Why not fuck-“

“ **CHRIST!** ” I held my head with my hands like it was going to fucking explode, my body on fucking _fire_ and my teeth clenched so hard together I thought they were going to crack. “Just SHUT UP! Someone here is going to fucking die because **they killed someone**! So how about we stop pissing around and get down to **SOLVING A FUCKING MURDER?!** ”

There was almost silence – the only sounds were my breathing, slowly and slowly growing calmer, and I stared down at my podium, trying to get off of the high that my anger gave me.

“Fine. Whatever.” Edwin rolled his eyes, turning his head away from everyone.

Caroline sighed. “Well, I suppose I should explain what I’ve uncovered. I admit…I was not able to interview one person due to…circumstances, and I’m afraid I really don’t have a complete picture of everyone here. But…well…I think I know who committed the murder, based on their own testimonials and what we’ve learned in the past two hours.”

Rebecca grumbled. “I do too…”

“Well, who is it?” Nancy said, a bit impatiently, and maybe fearfully.

Caroline nodded towards Rebecca, who smiled a bit too creepily.

“The person who **framed me** …” The philanthropist started slowly. “The person who started off this trial by trying to pin this whole thing on me!” Her voice slowly became more frantic and angry. “The motherfucker who has been threatening to _murder me_ since day fucking one!” Rebecca thrusted a hand with a pointed finger out in front of her. “ **Edwin Pescatore!** ”

Dianna suddenly snapped to attention. “Yeah!” She exclaimed, her hands balled up in fists.

Edwin seemed absolutely shocked. “What?! You really think I fuckin’ killed Samson? I liked the guy!”

I nodded, suddenly seeing the strength in her argument. “Shut up! You wanted to fuck Rebecca up from day one, didn’t you?”

Edwin shook his head, his face still trying its best to look innocent. “I didn’t know her from day one! I didn’t know fuckin’ anyone from day one!”

“Why are you trying to defend yourself?” Snapped Dianna, suddenly more invested in this argument then she ever was. “The proof is against you! We know you did it!”

“Jesus **Christ** , your argument is fucking…” Edwin shook his head. “If I killed Samson, which I fucking _didn’t_ , then why wouldn’t I get rid of the sai in Rebecca’s room or someone else rather than find a random fucking knife in the armory and put it there?”

“SHUT UP!” Dianna punched her open hand, her face surprisingly smiling and her normally wide eyes narrowed. “Admit it! You smashed Samson’s head against the floor, you stabbed him with the sai, you shoved him in the toy chest!”

I pointed at Edwin, and I could feel my teeth getting tight again. “Yeah, and you **didn’t** use the same knife because you wanted to…play dumb at the trial, right?! So you could get rid of the knife in the clothes room and still manage to…to…” I paused. Was I making any sense? It…I really didn’t know what I was saying.

“What do you have to say for yourself, you bastard?” Rebecca was trembling with rage, all clarified. “Wanted to dispose of me so you could get away scot-free and leave this hell while I die the worst death imaginable? Did you wa-“

“REBECCA!” Caroline exclaimed, her face uncharacteristically showing emotion – in this case, annoyance bordering on fury. “Be quiet for a moment! Dianna…” her face went back to normal calmness. “How did you know about how Samson died? Have we mentioned it during the trial?”

Gordon shook his head.

“What do you mean?” Dianna asked, calm and collected.

“You…how long were you in your room?” Caroline leaned in slightly. “I remember being unable to talk to you for the longest time – I couldn’t find you in the mansion, and you weren’t answering knocks to your door.”

“Weren’t ya in your room right before the trial started?” J.J. chewed the bottom part of her bottom lip, like she was thinking hard.

“I was out once…so I could see a movie with Jack and Weston.”

“That’s true, but…” Weston nodded, his face a bit disappointed. “You left because Samson called you,” I noticed how quiet Weston was being, but I was more concerned with what Dianna was saying. “I was there for ten more minutes, give or take, of course, and then the siren went off.”

“I…yeah, I went to Samson for a moment, but I left right after.” Dianna toyed with her bag – I was paying more attention to her now, and I was starting to notice a few little different things in it – same color of leather, but one or two latches were different, noticeable enough that someone that doesn’t really pay attention anyway could see.

“Couldn’t she have looked at Sam –  the body, though?” Nancy shakily said.

“Only people who saw the body were…uh…” Gordon began counting on his fingers. “Jack, Rebecca, Caroline…uh…Nancy, Sarah, and Weston.”

“S-someone told me!” Dianna immediately suggested, her composure breaking. “It was…uh…”

“Nope.” “I didn’t.” “I was…I didn’t see it in the first place.” “I don’t think anyone did.” “I was down there the whole time.” “I was all over the mansion.” “Did you even come out of your room, Dianna?”

“L-liste-no! No!” Dianna hugged herself, her eyes wide – and I’m pretty sure there were tears streaking from her eyes. “I didn’t kill him, I did-didn’t kill him, I didn’t…I didn’t k-k-kill him…I was in my room…I didn’t…I didn’t kill him…” She kept repeating, rocking back and forth in her place.

I took a deep breath, then sighed. Was Dianna…did she actually kill Samson? It seemed so…she couldn’t have, but…she was painting such a horrible picture of herself. “Dianna…just tell us what happened when you saw Samson.” I said, trying to be as calm and soothing as I could.

“Yo-you know, though…” Dianna stuttered, still in her hugging-self-rocking pose. “You…you were there.”

I sighed. I was tired of people trying to pin stuff on me…though, in this case, I kinda hoped that there was an alternate universe where this was all true. Dianna doesn’t deserve to die, even if she did…”Dianna…I wasn’t there.”

Rebecca looked depressed, leaning on her podium with a hand to her forehead. “Just tell us what you remember. We’re not accusing you of anything, okay?  Just tell us what happened.”

Dianna nodded, but then quickly shook her head. “No, no, no, no no **no** … _they_ might be here…”

Franklin jumped up. “They? Who’s They?”

Dianna had several different looks in her face – confusion, then fear, then nervousness, then regretful. “The…no…but…the secret I got…” Her eyes went tightly closed, tight enough that it didn’t seem like she would ever open them again, tears were streaking down her face, and she spoke in between short, small gasps for air. “The…secret…the secret I got…someone…someone in here…they… **k-k-k-killed t-t-two women** and the-they-they got away with it.”

I stood there for about a fucking year with my face locked up and my eyes wide. _That’s not true. She’s lying. There’s no way someone could do that. C.N.A. does millions of background checks. Kill two women? Two girls? What the fuck?! No, that can’t be true. She’s lying just so she can justify herself. There’s no fucking way in hell that’s true. One of us? One of fucking us did that?! It can’t be true. All of these secrets are lies to make us distrust each other. Do their parents know? Oh, God, what the fuck am I in? This is fucked up. This is so fucked up that it’s not true. You can’t get away with murder. It’s impossible. All of the secrets were lies. That’s the only fucking thing that’s possible. C.N.A. wouldn’t let anyone that went to rehab in, or fucking **kill two girls**. _

“WHAT?!” “No! You’re lying!” “That’s not true!” “It’s…it’s all a lie, it’s all a lie.” “Who is it?! FESS UP!” “That’s impossible!” 

Nothing that people were saying was registering. I just felt cold and I couldn’t stop thinking about what she just said – _Is she lying to cover her tracks? What did she really get? Was it worse? Did someone actually fucking kill two people? What if she’s lying, but it’s true? Who was it? How old were they? How did they do it? If they even fucking did it at all?_

“So…so…Samson called me down…and…and he – and he…he told me what was going to happen…and – what he wanted to do…and I got really scared that – he was the murderer…so – so I tackled him and…I don’t remember anything! I don’t remember _anything_! It was just all _red_ and then _black_ and the next moment I was on the other side of the hallway and – and – and I don’t know!” I was just hearing her voice – I was hiding my head in my hands, leaning on the podium, still trying to think about everything. _It was a lie. It was a lie. The secrets are a lie. It can’t be a lie. It’s a lie. But it’s true. Someone here got away with murder **twice** – they’re going to do it again._

“D-Dianna…you…you blacked out.” Caroline sounded disappointed, maybe a bit anxious, I think. “An acute-onset transient psychotic episode…your paranoia about the murderer was making you more and more anxious and causing your mind to become less…sane…and it all culminated in a concentrated burst of anger and fear and…you…you killed Samson and you didn’t know it, you don’t remember it.”

“B-b-but I…I do remember! I rushed to my room, and…and I remembered _Jack_ ,” I brought my head up and saw that she was looking at me like she wanted me to come over and hug her, while she was still hugging herself. Everyone else was staring at me, some with confusion, some with doubt. “I rushed up…I ran up to my room…and I remember him…he grabbed the knife from my bag and…he smashed his – Samson’s head against the floor…and he stabbed him a dozen times with the knife and – and – and he…left, so I pushed Samson in the chest…but…I didn’t ki-kill him! I-I-I didn’t kill Samson!” She kept repeating those words to herself quietly, shaking uncontrollably and tears kept coming down her cheeks and she was sniffling hard, biting her lip, and her eyes were still closed so tight, so fucking _tight_ that I thought they were going to rip from the top of her eyes and fall to the floor.

I looked down at the center of the room, at the tiniest impression in the middle that showed where the spiral staircase was. I was going down there in five, ten, fifteen minutes and I was going to have to watch Dianna die. “Dianna, by the time I left the movie…Samson was already dead. He was already inside the chest.”

Russell sighed. “He was.”

Weston wiped something from his face, though I wasn’t sure he was crying. “He…Jack was with me the whole time, until ten minutes after you left.”

Dianna just kept sobbing.

“That’s…that’s a new bag, isn’t it, Dianna?” Rebecca asked, calmer than normal, but she still sounded angry. “You had the knife – the sai in your old one for a while, didn’t you? Out of fear of the murderer. You…you killed Samson, you blacked out and you killed Samson with the knife you hid in your bag, then you were still high on adrenaline, so you got the strength to push Samson into the chest to hide him, then…you went to the clothes room and hid your bag with the knife still in it, grabbing a new one so nobody would notice. Then…”

“Her hands are wet…” I mumbled, unsure if it would help or not. I felt awful, like my stomach was heavy and filled with flying bugs at the same time, my throat filled with something lumpy that went up the entire length of my neck.

Caroline fidgeted with her hands, obviously thinking, before coming to a conclusion. “She noticed the blood on her hands…and she kept washing them repeatedly. That’s why she couldn’t hear the knocks at her door.”

Dianna was repeating the word ‘no’ to herself.

“You hallucinated Jack coming to your rescue to…to…” Caroline wasn’t making eye contact with anyone – she was just looking down at the screen on the podium. “You wanted to prove to yourself that you didn’t murder Samson, so you came up with that scenario to help you cope.”

I wasn't looking at anyone - I was just staring at the screen on my podium. Nobody else was saying anyone over Dianna's loud sobbing. I just wanted this whole fucking thing to end.

 “Well!” The P.A. system crackled to life. “That’s a hel-hell of a way to end a Trial! Quite the tearjerker, wouldn’t you say? Let’s get t-to voting!”

Nobody was smiling, nobody was triumphantly posing, nobody was doing anything but show some sign of remorse or fear.

The screen beneath my eyes, the screen was brought to life with pictures. I noticed that three of them were grayed out, with blood-colored X’s over the faces. I hovered over the killer’s face with my finger, but…

I didn’t want them to die.

They didn’t mean to. It was completely…they didn’t even **_realize_ ** it. I couldn’t sit through another execution, especially theirs.

So I pressed my finger down on my portrait.

I tapped ‘YES’.

And I tried to keep a tear from coming out of my eye.

“Okay, the votes are in! Let’s see who’s get-getting removed from the game!” I closed my eyes, and I heard the spotlight whirl around and I could feel the faint warmth from it hit my face.

“ **The blond chick!** Any la-last words, you _criminal_?”

There were more tears, now. Both mine and hers.

I had closed my eyes right now, an effort to try and get me to stop crying silently, which it didn’t. I heard the door open, a lot of mechanical hissing and grinding, and an absolutely blood-curdling scream.

When I opened my eyes, Dianna was gone.

“Well, I’ll get the execution started. It’ll take a while to prep, so just hang ti-“

“WAIT!” Rebecca yelled. “Did we…was Samson the murderer? The one in Dianna’s secret?”

There was a dry, electronic laugh – which, I began to notice, wasn’t really a laugh – it was starting to sound like someone was just putting ‘HAHA’ over and over into a text-to-speech program. “ **Nope!** ”

There was a minute or two of electrical buzzing, snapping, whatever, and without giving us any time to react to that fucking _bombshell_ , the middle of the room gave way, swirling and twisting until that metal spiral staircase was revealed. “Alright, head on down. T-Took quicker than I expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which I give this chapter the absolutely most generic title I can.)  
> This is the only chapter so far that I actually felt sad about when I wrote it. That, and the execution that'll come next week. I'm a bit worried that I won't be able to convey the emotional feelings that a situation like this would actually carry in real life, but oh well. I know if this actually happened to me I'd probably be an emotional wreck, but...well, I'm not Jack. I'm not really close to any of the characters here. I guess it'll be a challenge for me.  
> Also, a bit of good news that I've already mentioned: I'm about two-three chapters ahead, so I probably won't have to deal with being a day late in the near future. I'm so far ahead that I've actually skipped several chapters ahead and wrote a bonus chapter for the Fifth Episode that...well, it'll probably be a bit sad. Of course, given my writing ability, I'll probably be lucky if I make one person feel momentarily upset. Oh well!


	29. Deadline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone is kept in the dark, again.

I walked around my podium and stared down the metal spiral staircase.

Dianna was down there. She wasn’t long for this world. She was about to die horribly – something that I couldn’t even fucking _think_ would happen – and we would have to watch it all.

And…one of the people surrounding me, the one or two of the pairs of feet of feet I saw uneasily climb down the staircase, the person putting an arm around my back and whispering something to me…any of them could have been a killer. They could have killed two women and got away with it. There was no way of telling – they wouldn’t just confess, would they? It was fucking impossible to figure out.

I was in more danger than I think I’ve ever been.

“Jack…Jack…” My senses were slowly coming back to me, and I could hear Rebecca talking to me slowly, quietly. “Is..everything okay?”

I exhaled, probably looking more angry than I should’ve, still feeling the one or two tears come down my cheeks. “You…you were here for th-the…you know what’s going t-to happen!”

“Jack, you’re crying…” She felt my cheek, really invading my personal space, and I swatted her hand away.

“Just-just **_shut up_**!” I wrestled free of her grip, looked behind my shoulder at her shocked face, and I stormed down the stairwell, one of the last to go.

The place where we watched Sophia’s execution…it was exactly as I remembered it. Red room, fifteen velvet seats, window in the front, three T.V.’s hanging from the ceiling broadcasting static. I sat in the back, near the staircase, and Rebecca came down soon after and sat in the seat on the opposite end of the row.

The restraints came on. Of course. The thought of Dianna freaking out about the cuffs, her literal panic attack, came flooding back into my mind, and I shut my eyes tight, shaking my head, tears still coming, (though I could feel my eyes drying up), trying to get it off my mind. _She’s going to die. Face it. You can’t change it, you can’t burst through the window and save her – you can’t, now. But…she deserves to die. She killed Samson – stop fucking feeling sorry for her! Fucking let it go! Man the fuck up and stop your fucking crying, just watch it happen and feel glad that a murderer – one of them – is fucking **dying**!_

I opened my eyes. The spotlights haven’t come on yet. Nobody else was murmuring, speaking, doing fucking anything. Most of them were frozen with fear and sadness and whatever the fuck they were feeling. One other person was crying a little bit, or at least sniffling. Caroline, the person next to me, had her eyes closed, with her head bowed. 

The spotlights noisily came on, shining on the space in front of the window. There was a metal box around thirty, forty, fifty feet in front of us, I couldn’t tell how big it was – it seemed at least as big as a regular closet, maybe big enough for a person to stand upright in it and not move much. I tried not to think what was in it. It was being supported on a few big rectangles of something big – wood, maybe? Yeah, it seemed like a pallet of wood. There were a few big planks leaning against the box, and I noticed that there were a few planks attached to the box, too.

Slowly, a few bulldozers – literal fucking yellow construction-grade bulldozers, three of them – came rolling out of the darkness. They had something in their shovels, white things, looked like towels, maybe?  Of course, their cabs were covered with something dark – big black sheets of metal in front of the windows, blocking us from looking at whoever or whatever was driving. They drove to the box, dropped off whatever was in the shovels, and drove off. The Drones were starting to come in, swirling the box, and I just noticed that the bulldozers were dropping off newspapers next to the box – apparently called _The Crier_. Sounded familiar, but it seemed like a small-town newspaper. I couldn’t read what the front page story was, but the image on it was a big photo of Dianna. Wait…how recent were those? What were they doing with literally our only contact with the fucking outside world?!

“What are they gonna do with those?” Nancy asked,. Apparently fascinated – either in horror or awe, I’m not sure.

“They’re…”  Sarah was breathing faster, before her face tensed up. “Close your eyes _right_ now – just, don’t look!”

“Oh…oh _God_.” Russell choked out.

Suddenly, the middle T.V. buzzed to life, showing a complete darkness instead of static.

And then Dianna’s voice filled the room.

“He-hello?” She asked, still crying. “What’s going on? Where am I? Jack? Any-anyone?” There was a loud banging sound, and I realized that Dianna was actually _in_ that fucking box. “Help! Someone ju-just HELP ME!”

The bulldozers kept bringing the newspapers to the box – it must’ve been a few feet high on all sides by now.

“What’s th-that sound?” Dianna pleaded between short cries. “Someone – just help me!”

Finally, the dozers made one last trip and didn’t return, leaving a pile of newspapers that must've been four feet tall. I still didn’t know what was going on – they were obviously going to burn the newspapers and the wood, but wouldn’t the metal of the box protect her from the flames?

Mr. Producer walked out of the darkness, something that I really still wasn’t used too – it still just looked like the light avoided him, like he was actually part of the dark. He bent down in a completely robotic way, leaning forward with a kind of lighter in his hands, which he operated clumsily – sort of like he wasn’t used to using such a fluid motion.

“Well, this is quite the ste-st-steamy story, don’t you think?” He did another laugh, and the first paper went up in flames, quickly burning and catching the next paper on fire, the next, and the next, until the first ring of paper was burning brightly. The fire kept spreading up the pile, and after a minute every paper was flaming, the first and second rings a pile of ash.

“It’s-it’s hot…no!” Dianna screamed, and there was the sound of more banging. “No! Let me go! Let me GO!”

Mr. Producer was gone now – I just kept staring at the flames, burning brighter than the spotlights, and catching some of the wood on the box on fire. There was more banging coming from the P.A. system, maybe the T.V., until it was replaced by a quick sizzling sound, and then a scream. “MY HAND!” Dianna yelled, then more screaming. “It’s too hot! I’m going to…OH GOD!” More crying. "I don’t remember d-doing anything! I didn’t kill anyone! I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE! I…I c-can’t stop sweating! Someone – s-s-someone just help me! SOMEONE! I can’t…I’m goi-going to **DIE**!” I was shaking, breathing faster, and I just couldn’t take the sight of her fucking _roasting to death_ – I shut my eyes, tears falling down my face, turning my head down.

But, in my mind, I could still feel the heat from the flames.

She kept screaming, which slowly became weaker and weaker. “I...my...oh God...someone just…I can’t stop...sweating...I need to…I’m…I…” There was a quick sigh, like all the air was leaving her body, and the sound of someone collapsing onto metal, then more sizzling – more fucking sizzling, then what sounded like boiling, her fucking _flesh_ being…oh my _God_ …then a loud scream that pierced my ears and my brain, and then...nothing.

 “She passed out…” I heard someone mumble.

I heard the spotlights click off, but I knew that the fire was still roaring.

“Is – is it over?” Someone said between sniffs.

“Keep your eyes closed...just _don’t look_.” Someone answered.

“Just…put the fucking fire out, fucking…put it out,” I mumbled to myself, not caring if anyone heard.

There was a loud thud – I guessed…I didn’t want to guess. The burning and boiling sounds were replaced by something falling to the floor, then sizzling, and then electronic cracks and snaps, before cutting out in a giant sound of feedback that cut out as soon as it started.

I opened my eyes a little bit, and the fire was still going, and my vision quickly filled up with water so I closed them again, and I kept them closed as tight as I could until I felt the tight metal release from my wrists, and I immediately doubled over and held my head like it was about to explode.

Dianna was dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which I probably don't give someone's flesh bubbling and melting the write-up it deserves.)
> 
> So, I'm on my laptop again, which is great. Just spent the last two hours cleaning up my discs. Now I can work on a story about teenagers dying horribly without being afraid of people looking over my shoulder!
> 
> This whole thing is starting to get too real - a few days ago I had a dream that I had uploaded the wrong chapter and didn't realize until someone pointed it out, and I kept fucking up regarding chapters. I don't remember if I ever actually fixed it in the dream. Does that count as a nightmare? To be honest, it sounds pretty pathetic as far as nightmares go.
> 
> Now that this plot event is over with, I should probably say - I've probably been making Jack and/or Rebecca way to plot relevant to these murders. After this Episode, it'll probably happen way less.
> 
> Also, last night, I realized a pretty damn big plot hole that's actually impossible to correct. Brownie points to whoever thinks of it. (And, if you find one that I haven't already found and came up with an in-universe explanation to in my head, well, extra brownie points.)


	30. Definition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people speak ill of the dead.

At my count, there were six people that were dead.

Malcolm was tortured to death by Sophia. He didn’t deserve it.

Sophia was crushed by a falling tree. She…I think she deserved it. Maybe. She was insane, it seemed…good, I mean, she killed someone, she had to be punished. But she…could we have settled it ourselves? She seemed really hard-set about what she was thinking, her hatred towards Malcolm. But there was always a chance. Though it wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Samson was dead. Because Dianna had killed him. But he also wanted to kill Rebecca…I just didn’t know.

Dianna was dead. She was roasted to death. Because she killed Samson.

But she didn’t know she had killed him. She thought I did it…because she was crazy. She was going to snap at any second, and…was it good that we put her out of her misery? No. It would be better if it was painless, quick, instead of being literally cooked to death inside a metal box. It would’ve been even better if she hadn’t died, if she was still alive, if we could talk to her. Maybe she wasn’t crazy at all. Maybe she was just really paranoid. I would too, if I learned that one of us was a fucking **murderer**.

And then…there were the two girls that one of us had killed. I didn’t even know their names, their ages, where they were from…just that they were dead.

I looked up, wiping a few last tears from my eyes. The first person I saw was Nancy, in the seat in front of me, holding her head with her hands.

And instead of a scared young teenager, just out of middle school, I saw a murderer.

Someone who put grinded poison flowers in the food of a girl who had bullied her, giving her what looked like a heart attack, then did it again to a random girl just to see if she could do it again. And she did.

I glanced around, my eyes falling on Edwin, looking down at the floor and his arms crossed.

He hid in his school’s theater catwalks, grinding down the cords on the stage lights in such a way that they seemed accidental, and then making sure they fell on two preps that were giving him shit for being him. He left right before they fell, freeing him of all suspicion.

I shook my head. No. It was a lie. It had to be. Nobody here could actually kill two people and…but…it seemed so _possible_. Maybe someone smart could help. I just didn’t know.

I stood up, making my way towards the spiral staircase in the back of the room, climbing up it, my head down and not paying any attention to anyone else.

The trial room was dark. I didn’t care. I just stood by the elevator door at the end of the short corridor that I didn’t give any attention to.

After a few minutes, everyone else was gathered in front of the elevator. It dinged. I went in. My body felt…empty. Like I didn’t care anymore. Should I? I didn’t feel like…depressed. Just like I had nothing to…live for. Not that I wanted to die…just like I didn’t want to do anything else with my life, because…it didn’t matter. I chewed the inside of my mouth, staring at the emptiness below my feet, beyond the mesh that separated me from it, and just kept staring down.

The elevator dinged again, and we left it, spending as little time in the other dark room as we had to.

When I stepped out of the elevator room, I immediately felt someone touching my back, and I whipped my head around. It was Rebecca, her height as tall as my shoulder, and she was giving me a full view of her brown, kinda black hair, her glasses hanging off of her sweatervest. “Can I speak to you in private?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why? Why not say what you wanna here?” I then mumbled something kinda pessimistic, which I didn’t realize she probably heard until it was too late.

She grumbled. “Fine.” She still started to drag me by my jacket’s collar anyway, and I threw her hand off.

“Jesus! Why do people keep dragging me places?!” I glared at her, and she glared back. “Like I’m a fucking little kid or something! Just let me walk!”

“Do. Not. Touch me like that. **AGAIN**.” She grunted, her eyes squinted. “Fine, just follow me.”

She lead me to the corner of the hallway, the armpit of the T shape or whatever the actual term for it was, and her body language shifted to something more…calming. Or curious. Or something.

“Look…did you like Dianna? In a romantic way?” She crossed her arms and avoiding eye contact, staring to the side.

“What? No. She’s – she was crazy. She was…I’ll have to ask Caroline about it. But she wasn’t right in the head.”

“But…why were you crying for her if she was crazy? Or…was it for Samson?” She still wasn’t looking at me, now investigating the hardwood floor with her eyes. “It’s…I thought you weren’t supposed to _be_ sad.”

“Dianna…I mean…” I struggled for the right words to use, running my hand through my not-hair that was starting to grow thicker than half a centimeter, which I didn’t like, but the A.B.T. Stylist wasn’t chosen to be here, so fuck. “I don’t…I don’t know. I kinda…she was a friend, y’know? And, I mean, yeah, she had a big crush – fuck, more than a big crush on me, but, uh…I started liking her. But she needed help.”

Rebecca nodded. I could tell she still wasn’t happy with my answer.

“I mean, fuck, maybe a little bit of it was for Samson,” I sighed. “And, you know, I’d feel the same way if it was you.”

Her eyes went wide, and she blushed a little bit. Should I have said that? Fuck me.

“Uh, sorry.” I shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

“No…no…I’m just…” She moved her mouth weirdly, maybe she was awkwardly chewing the inside of her mouth or something. “Not used to someone being so nice to me. I’m usually used to being on…I mean…I’m used to being the nice one,” she shook her head. “Whatever. You can go now.”

I nodded, and turned to leave, before looking back and smiling, maybe a bit sadly. She smiled back at me, but she was still awkwardly standing there.

I saw Caroline and Gordon talking by the stairway door, and moved to the two of them. I remembered that I kinda wanted to know why Dianna was the way she is - was. Why she was so...dead-set on me. Why she went crazy over me. “Yo, Caroline, can I ask you something?”

She glanced towards me, and moved her body so the three of us were now forming a triangle. “Is it about Samson or Dianna?”

“Dianna.”

She nodded. Gordon leaned back, his arms crossed and waiting to see what we said.

“Why was she…like, so focused on me? Like she had a huge crush on me?”

Caroline tapped her chin, her small eyes kinda sad. “I believe there’s a term for that…”

“ _Having a crush?_ ” Gordon shrugged.

“No…it was an obvious fixation on Jack, and…I believe she mentioned having encounters with you that obviously couldn’t have taken place – she was hallucinating. Of course, they probably weren’t as vivid as she describes them. I assume that they were most likely auditory and her mind filled in the rest, and the encounter she described after she killed Samson being her imagination coming up with the scenario. Oh…I think _erotomania_ is the term for it.”

“Wait…” I pieced together the word in my mind. _Eroto_ is shorthand for _Erotic_ , so… “She wanted t-“

Caroline interrupted me, her mouth smiling a little bit for a half-second before she obviously forced it back down to its neutral state, and her face tensed up. “No. No, no, no, no, no. _Eroto_ is…Latin, I believe for just _love_. _Mania_ is Latin for _craze_ or something like that.

“People diagnosed with it believe that a person is in love with them, and they know that the person has the same feelings. They usually send letters or gifts to the person, and they believe that the person of their fixation communicates back their love through insignificant things like their body language or even tone of voice. Though, I haven’t heard of a case as bad as this, including the hallucinations.”

“So was she crazy from the start?” Gordon raised an eyebrow, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Perhaps? It’s possible her delusion was caused by her paranoia and fear, making her look for someone to protect her, and she chose to fixate on someone that showed her compassion, but at the same time, it’s possible that she already had some sort of syndrome that caused her to hallucinate, and maybe she already had some form of erotomania, fixated on another person, maybe Jack,” Caroline adjusted her glasses and grimaced. “In addition, I would prefer you to not use that term. _‘Crazy’._  It’s horribly immature.”

Gordon nodded, but still rolled his eyes.

“Uh, alright, thanks,” I shrugged. So Dianna was…insane, for lack of a better term. And I probably caused it by paying attention to her. Great. “So what about Samson? Was he, uh…”

“No, he wasn’t ill…he was only doing what he believed was right, even if it was discriminatory towards…” She caught herself about to say…something. “Disregard that, but…I’m afraid that I didn’t interact enough with him to get a complete picture of him.” she looked away, a bit embarrassed. “Personally, I believe that his piety made him believe that a higher power was watching him and guiding his actions, which is why he didn't seem to have that remorse over suggesting that Rebecca should be executed, but that’s definitely not a mental illness, for the most part. Perhaps believing that he was being guided by a higher power displays some sort of messianic complex, but it would be hard to say whether or not that’s what he truly thought. I mean, I consider myself religious, and I’m not mentally ill. Not to that severity, anyway. It's also possible that he was just so used to dealing with diseased or rabid animals and having to put them down for the greater good of his business that he compares humans to animals depending on their similar traits, but that seems like a learned behavior, not an illness.”

“Uh, okay.” I nodded – too be honest, most of what she was saying was going over my head.

“Hey, uh, you three.” Russell stepped in, arms crossed. “We’re meeting in the dining room – like last time.”

“Thanks, dude.” Gordon smiled and walked out of the triangle, followed by Caroline, then me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which I admit I have no idea how Erotomania works)
> 
> Less reading this time. Next chapter is a good few pages long, though, so don't feel like I'm short changing you, though I probably am. Oh well!
> 
> We're almost at the end of the Episode. Hard to believe that I'm actually sticking with this silly little thing. Maybe I'll actually stick it through to the end! 
> 
> (I probably abused my ellipses in this chapter. Like, holy shit, did I. Sorry!)


	31. Melatonin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack feels a bit down.

There was a kind of wall of tension when we all walked into the dining room. Everyone was glaring at each other, the cameras, the guns, whatever. It was pretty easy to tell that they were all thinking about the murderer. Maybe Dianna. Maybe Samson

I tried to not realize that the seats to my left was permanently empty, and that the one to my right was gone forever, as I sat down in mine. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of blonde hair, but I blinked and it was gone. I tried not to pay too much attention to it.

Caroline eased into her seat. “I should…I believe it would be best to offer what I mentioned last…last time this…happened. I don’t have any sort of license, but I can still be an acceptable psychiatrist for whoever needs it.”

There was a kinda silence, filled only by the sound of slight movement in chairs, legs bouncing up and down, and the ever slight sound of playing with your hands. If a pin dropped in the room, we’d all probably start a heated discussion about that just to get our minds off of what we just saw – and, really, what we have been seeing the past few days.

“It’s…” J.J. decided to break the silence, and she had her hands on the arms of the chair, really the only things keeping her from completely sinking into the seat of her chair. “She didn’t know. She just didn’t know. And we cooked her alive for her trouble.”

What J.J. just said…it reminded me of me trying to get rid of myself for Dianna. Did…shit, what was I thinking? That was…what if a lot of other people actually believed Dianna and voted for me? That would’ve been fucking _it_. Shit. What if they knew that I voted for myself in the first place? That would be a lot of rumors starting that I couldn't keep quiet.

Franklin was bouncing his knee up and down and messing with his shirt sleeve – no, wait, he was scratching his wrist, for some reason. “She was c-clearly insane…I should kn-know better than anyone…but we have to get – know what’s going on here…who’s behind this…”

“That’s…I mean, that’s a good sentiment, but we have bigger things to worry about, right?” Russell shrugged, not feeling like giving us any idea _what_ to worry about, but I figure we all knew anyway. “But…uh…I mean…I’m not sure. She – Dianna murdered someone, she didn’t know it, but she murdered Samson. We had to eliminate her. She definitely wasn’t safe.”

Sarah grunted. “She didn’t know what was going on. You’re talking like a propagator for eugenics now, buddy. It wasn’t right that she…yeah, she killed Samson, but he set her off in the wrong way. She didn’t even realize what she did. She thought Jack did it all.” She nodded to herself, and I could hear the gears turning in her head – maybe she was thinking about turning this ordeal into a song, which would be kinda in bad taste, but whatever.

Nancy shuffled awkwardly in her chair. “Should we…was it alright for th'…for Samson to…I-I mean, he wanted to _kill_ you, Rebecca, and-”

Rebecca leaned forward. “ **Absolutely not.** Nobody deserves to be murdered, no matter what they think. And…while I don’t agree with the execution of Dianna or Sophia…they had to be punished in some way – confinement, maybe, not death.”

I couldn’t help but frowning at Dianna’s name from sadness, maybe a bit of regret, and from Samson’s out of disappointment and this feeling I had of loss.

“It’s…really a shame that all of this has been happening, but…” Weston rubbed his hands awkwardly, glancing around at everyone, but he was still smiling. “We have to keep our heads up above the water. I can assure you this won’t happen aga-“

“Were you even _here_ for the trial, you fuckwit?” Edwin sneered at Weston in a really nasty way, showing a bit of slightly yellowed teeth. “One of us here killed _two girls._ So you’re sayin’ we should just fuckin’ forget about that? You really think they won’t pull that shit again now that they got every fuckin’ opportunity to?”

Gordon rolled his eyes, smiling in that wide way he often did. “If they tried that shit again, me and Caroline and Rebecca and Jack would find them out, then they’d get smashed between two plates of whatever their execution is.”

“So now we’re wishing death upon people,” Sarah threw up her arms.  “Great!”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Russell shook his head, his voice obviously loosing its cool. “Not innocent people. We’re talkin’ about someone who literally – _literally_ – has killed before!”

“And maybe they haven’t!” Rebecca jumped in, slightly raised in her seat. “Maybe this whole thing about the secrets was made up! Maybe it’s just a ploy by Mr. Producer, or whoever the hell it really is, to get us to distrust each other! Do you really think that someone could get away with murder in the information era? Where everyone’s carrying an internet-capable computer in their pocket and there’s a camera on every corner and on every person?” As she said that, my eyes instinctively went up to the blinking camera in the corner of the room on the ceiling – and the massive machine gun on the opposite corner.

J.J. was leaning back in her chair, obviously tired and with a face that showed that she was just fucking done. “Haven’t thought of that. But…I mean, are all the secrets just corral dust? The one I got…I hope it was a lie.”

“Erm…what secret did you get?” Franklin was rubbing his hands together awkwardly, staring way too hard at J.J.

J.J. mumbled something, her arm leaning against her head, before she sighed and sat upright. “Should we just…do what Samson wanted? Read off the secret we got? I mean, now that...well, now that someone fucking killed two girls, right?”

“And what _would_ we do to the kid who actually killed those girls?” Sarah grimaced, eying everyone else in the room – including me.

“Why…why are you being so…?” Franklin glared at Sarah, expecting us to fill in the blanks.

“Because we aren’t gonna kill someone!” Nancy crossed her arms, leaning forward.

Russell crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe we should. They got away with their crimes, right?” He smiled weirdly. “Maybe we should fix that.”

J.J. nodded. “I’d be up for that.” Wait, seriously?!

Rebecca buried her face in her hands, and she exhaled a ton of air. I could feel the heat from it from across the table. “This isn’t a fucking **game**! We’re not going to find out the murderer just through a night of interviews and a bulletin board of facts or whatever the fuck you want to do!”

“Bulletin board…now there’s an idea…” Franklin mumbled.

“Oh. My. **God**.” Rebecca rubbed her eyes in frustration or anger or something. “You all are…just…seriously?!”

“We aren’t killing anyone.” Sarah exhaled.

I shook my head and leaned forward on the table, getting kinda…furious. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you? Did you just fucking forget what happened thirty fucking minutes ago?! And do you really want to become another Sophia? Another Dianna? Did you forget that ALL of America’s fucking watching us? That…” After I said that, I thought about…my mom. Watching me. Would she be proud? Fearful? What was she doing right now? God, what I would fucking give to know… “What about your parents, huh? Did you ever think about Malcolm’s dad or Samson’s parents? Do-do you really want to make someone go through that?”

I was surprised when everyone shut the fuck up. Did…did I say something good? Like, something profound? Were they all thinking about their parents now? Fuck.

J.J. reacted by sinking into her chair, staring at the tabletop. “I…I just want my mom and dad…and my sister…and…” J.J. said weakly, surprisingly with a fainter accent, almost unnoticeable, and she wiped something from her eye.

“You’re not alone.” Weston looked down, sighing.

Nancy was obviously trying hard not to cry.

I just couldn’t stop thinking about my mom. Where was she right now? Home? At the C.N.A. campus? What was she doing? Probably glued to the television, absorbing all the information that she could. Crying a lot, maybe. Definitely. Did she see me…vote for myself half an hour ago? Just so I wouldn’t have to see Dianna die? She probably…didn’t take it well. But, I just…the last time I saw her was that movie I saw the first day. The one where she glitched out of existence. Wait, was she safe? Was that just all editing? Was she really…oh, _God_ …

I…I had to stay strong. I looked up at the camera and imagined her on the other side, sitting in our living room, watching me on that decent T.V. we had, maybe on the T-V she had in her room. It was…maybe 3 in the afternoon? And the episodes were coming out on the following day at 6 pm…so…wait, did…Samson’s parents had no idea that he was dead. Dianna’s parents didn’t know that she had killed him.

Everything suddenly felt more hopeless than it already did.

The people around me were talking – about what, I didn’t really care. I felt like going up to my room and just going to bed, but…I just don’t know what to do anymore. I couldn’t help but stare into space as my mind raced through thoughts – about my mom, about my friends, about Samson and Dianna and Malcolm and Sophia. I couldn’t help but see their faces, the last things I remembered about them – being tortured to death, complimenting me on my selection to go to C.N.A., being cooked alive in a metal box, playing video games with me over the internet while I was on my tours, kissing me before I went up to get kidnapped in an elevator, crushed by a falling tree while she was chained to it, stuffed inside a toy chest with a dent in his head and stabs wounds in his stomach…

And, of course, one of the people around the table with me was a murderer.

Fuck it. I got up from my chair, and without a word to the talkative fuckers around me, I left, slamming the door behind me. I walked up to my room and…I just couldn’t get rid of this feeling that my grasp on my mind, that it was slipping away from me. Whatever happened to Jack Guerrero, the kid who BASE jumped off of a canyon, the kid who did freestyle motocross though he was too young to, the kid who had fucking sponsorships and his own skateboard and what could’ve been a reality T.V. deal?

_I gotta get a grip._

The climb up the concrete staircase made my legs feel like they were about to give out, and I eventually found myself in front of the door to my room, working the lock with my I.D. and a hand that wouldn’t stop _fucking shaking_ and Jesus _Christ_ what’s going on with me and

I collapsed on my bed, not caring to take off my sneakers or my jacket, and when the feeling of sleep failed to come out and take me out of my misery, I took everything off, put on a new pair of boxers and pajama pants, and wandered into my bathroom, staring at my face in the mirror and not getting rid of this feeling that it was about to explode and splatter the walls with brain and bone and flesh.

I had stubble. Almost unnoticeable, but I could still see it. I haven’t had stubble since puberty. I fucking hated my facial hair – I hated all of my hair. I never really knew why, but my hair just reminded me of someone that I didn’t want to be. I looked everywhere in the bathroom for any sort of razor, remembering that I had brought my own razor and shaving cream along with other toiletries in my duffel bag, grabbed those, shaved with my still kinda shaky hand, feeling like any kind of wrong cut over my throat would just create a geyser of blood – fuck, I just felt so fucking _fragile_ and I didn’t know why.

I returned to the dorm room, almost stepping on the pile of fuck, staring into my mirror like my mother was on the other end, and I thought about talking to her, but then I realized that there really wasn’t that big of a chance it would actually make it to the next episode.

Fuck this situation. Fuck this mirror. Fuck those pictures that were stolen from my house. Fuck me, fuck everyone else in this fucking place, fuck that Mr. Producer fucker, fuck...

I fell on my bed, eventually curing up my comforter and squeezing it, resting my head on it, like I was transferring all this fucking stress and this fucking feeling that I was going to die soon into it. Not that it helped. But it was actually damn comfortable.

I ended up using that nostril trick I used the first day I was here – something that felt like a couple of months ago. It helped. Kinda. I think. Probably. After a while of wallowing in my own feelings, I did fall asleep. Thank God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's one more Episode done with. I never thought I'd get this far, too be honest. Thanks to everyone who's been reading for helping me persevere.
> 
> I'm gonna be starting a new project soon, by the way. I've written the first two-three chapters, but the process of writing it takes a lot longer than this story, so it probably won't actually be launched for a while, and even when it's published, it won't be on a regular schedule - it'll definitely a 'when it's done' type of upload. It probably won't take up my time as opposed to this fic, and if I ever get behind on this fic (or, if I ever have to institute a 'when it's done' policy for this one), I'll immediately drop it and work on getting this caught up.
> 
> Bonus chapters! Two this time.
> 
> .odd II - http://pastebin.com/EcnELPU4  
> Bit of a well-deserved content warning on this one - it goes into a bit of detail regarding child pornography. If this is a really touchy subject for you (and, really, it should be) skip it. I felt really uncomfortable myself when I wrote it. It's not graphic, mind you, but it has a lot of bad implications. I'll definitely keep those kinds of references to a minimum from now on.
> 
> Tell-All - http://pastebin.com/KC76xWa2  
> This one is also a bit uncomfortable to read to, but for different reasons, and it might be a little bit, well, insulting, though it probably isn't. If this chapter is even somewhat terrible to you, please let me know what I can change and I'll get to work on editing it immediately.


	32. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack wakes up to something unfortunate.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was able to sleep peacefully and soundly, even though I’ve been through hell, even though I found Samson dead and stuffed in a toy chest, and then watched someone who really didn’t deserve it be roasted to death. Sleep helped all of that.

Of course, someone had to go and fuck that up.

I was resting in my bed, curled up with no covers or shirt on. Just me, the comforter that I had rolled up to use as a body pillow, and absolute silence.

My sleep was rudely interrupted when I realized that someone was grabbing me. I bolted awake, tried swinging my arms around my body to beat whoever was at me – but it was no use. My limbs refused to respond.  It felt like they were full of lead, and…I was actually terrified for my life.

“The fuck? What the hell! Get-!” I was in full fighting mode now-kicking my legs didn’t work, either. Shit. What the fuck is happening to me?! I tried to get a good look at whoever was grabbing me, but it was still too dark-my eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the light. Just a horrible blackness that protected my attacker from my damned prying eyes.

My eyes were darting around my room, trying to find something-anything-that could help me. My limbs were numb, my heart was pounding, ready to burst – a feeling I didn’t have until when I first passed out on the first day. I screamed loudly, my voice box on the verge of breaking open, and I was  hoping that someone walking out in the hallway at this ungodly hour would hear, or, less likely, my attacker would leave. He didn’t, and I could tell, somehow, that they were enjoying my struggling.

I felt my head bang against the floor hard, and I started to realize that there was blood coming out of the wound, I could tell there was warmth from it and that my brain was being fucking drained, and it trailed as the fucker –  who was about to fucking _kill me_ , something that I couldn’t stop -  dragged me to the bathroom, suddenly pulling me up by the skin on my head, shoving me into the hot water that I knew was hot, and I could tell that my skin was _melting_ and my lungs were filling with burning water and it was melting the inside of my throat and my eyes were being scalded from the heat and I can’t close them I can’t do fucking anything and oh  god I’m g **oi ng to** _die I_ ’m goin g  to    _die_   ca **n’t som** eo ne hel _p_ me and I can **feel** m _y m ind_ **flood** ing and I ‘m goi 

* * *

 

I woke up on the floor, on top of my rolled up comforter, and for a split second I felt like my dream was true, and that someone was actually dragging me by my feet, and I screamed before I shut the fuck up and remembered that it was…was it a dream? It didn’t feel like one – more like a hallucination, something that those _really_ high-strength painkillers that I used a lot when something went wrong during a show, or once or twice for fun, would give you. I felt the back of my head – nothing was leaking out of it. From what I could see, the bathroom was clean. And there was the fact that nobody could break into this room anyway.

I sighed, staring at the floor. I really was losing my mind, but – I can’t really base that off a sorta-dream, right? Maybe I was still sane. I was under a lot of stress yesterday, anyway. Two of my friends were taken from me, and two others before that. This entire situation was kinda really fucking taxing on the mind.

I guess I would have to talk to someone smart about it.

I got up, stretched, put on clothes – a grey pair of jeans, a t-shirt for my old school’s football team, (Go _Fantomas_! God, I do not miss that place at _all._ ), my lucky jacket which I really didn’t care enough to zip up all the way, put in my knife and I.D., and stepped out.

The lights were dim – a sign that I had woken up too early. Shit. Maybe I should go back into my room and squeeze out a few more minutes, maybe hours of sleep? Eh, I was already dressed.

I remembered that…yeah. Someone died. Two people. That meant there was a new location available for exploring. Should I wait for the others to wake up? Probably.

Out of some sort of…weird curiousity, the first thing I did was look at Dianna’s door, right next to me. On her face was a blood-colored ‘X’, though it looked…different, and when I leaned in to look harder, I found that it was actually a pair of spray-painted fountain pens, like it was graffitied on. I walked over to Samson’s, and it was a spray-painted, crossed pitchfork and shovel.  Sophia and Malcolm’s were still there, paint already dried by now. All of them made me feel sick to my stomach and only cemented the fact that four people – six people, really – are now dead. I immediately left for downstairs.

I kinda wandered around the other two locations that were already open, the T-shaped hallway and the hall with the armory and all that fun stuff in it. I thought about shocking myself on the handles for the store room or the dining room, really just to pass the time – since that worked out so well in the past – but decided against it, realizing that it probably wasn’t too good for me.

I walked around, getting to the Library, which was completely dark – except for a light coming from a desk, and in the darkness I could see the slightest hint of frizzy orange hair, and a face staring at a book.

“Hey, man.” It had to be Franklin, right? That, or Sarah, but her hair was more of a deeper red.

Franklin jerked his head towards me – I think. I really couldn’t see that well in the darkness, of course. “Hi…”

“So, what are you doing up at this hour?” I took the seat across from him, turning on the light at my desk and moving the light up, so it kinda lit up the room better.

“I…don’t sleep as…as well as I-I used to…”

I nodded. “What’re you reading?” I asked, trying to be friendly. Might as well pass the time with this dude.

“It’s…uh…” He put the book’s cover to the light – it had an orange cover, with  two or three bright blood-colored lines going diagonally from the bottom right point to the top left, and a black box with the title in white letters – _The Journals of the Last Man_. “A…it’s a…” He kinda struggled with the right words. “Have you ever heard of the Reindt family?”

I shook my head.

“Obviously…well, then, you’re not really up to date on your history, are you?” He chuckled to himself. “You see…the Reindts got their start in the advent of the second great war, they were a banking family, and-and they went in and got c-control of the perpetrating c-country after their recession, through some skillful man-mainup-manipulating of the markets, they sat their own in power, one Ba-Barnabas Reindt, and, eventually, they put one of their own in the government of every national superpower’s government – under pseudonyms, of course, and now they’re associated with the Redwood U-“

None of what he was saying was making sense. I just…what? “Woah, dude, is this a conspiracy theory? I don’t do those. ‘Cept for the one about aliens building the pyramids.”

“It’s true though! It’s _all true_!” He glared at me, his voice suddenly becoming…well, more clear and less breaking-up. “Read this book. The Reindts, they…they’re in charge of everything. They’re behind the-”

“Look, man, just…you’re sounding crazy! Didn’t you…” I felt like he said something that kinda fucked up what he was saying right now. “Didn’t you say that it was a ‘sign of weakness’ a few days ago?”

His eyes darted around the room. “No, you see, a few days ago…I’m not on the…it doesn’t matter, none of it matters! The Reindts are behind this, you see, and I will get to the bottom of it, whether you lot help me or not!” I was…he was actually forming a full, complete sentence. It was kinda surprising…it wasn’t a good sign.

“Well, you can count me out, I guess.” I shrugged, waved goodbye, turned off my desk light, and got the fuck out of there.

As soon as I was in the hallway, I sighed. I was…holy shit, maybe he was going crazy. I was too, last night, but…I dunno. It was maybe harmless. Was it?

I wandered around the halls, trying to get what he said out of my mind. Thankfully, I ran into someone that helped.

J.J. was walking out of the stairwell door, her eyes half-closed, her hair undone, wearing a baggy cream t-shirt and red shorts. I guessed those were her pajamas. She seemed…well, tired.

“Hey, what’s up?” I tried being friendly. I didn’t really know if I came off that way or not.

She groaned. “Didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I was hoping that the kitchen had a coffee machine. Need some Arbuckle’s in me.”

I shrugged. “Is the kitchen even open?”

She pulled her I.D. from the…wait, do girls actually keep stuff in their bra? That’s really gross, holy shit. Of course, I didn’t tell her that. “Got…shit, when do the doors open? Seven? Then there’s , like, eight or so minutes left.”

I shrugged. “We might as well make some for everyone, or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hope they like it blacker than midnight,” she paused for a second, rubbing her eyes, and then apparently thinking for a second or two. “Is everything aces with you? One or two other guys were kinda worried after you just got up and left.”

I really wasn’t sure what to tell her. Should I say that I was feeling…kinda like I was losing my mind? Not as bad as Franklin, though. Wait, should I tell her that? Should I tell her about my nightmare. “Eh, Samson’s and Dianna’s death kinda put me on edge, y’know?”

She nodded, chewing the inside of her mouth. “So, are…uh…were you two, you and Dianna, like…”

“No. Jesus, no, but, I mean, she was a friend, y’know? I mean…shit, she just kinda latched onto me, kinda went…” After hearing what Caroline said yesterday, I tried searching my kinda tiny brain for a better word than ‘crazy’. “She went insane, I guess, but I still liked her as a friend. Not that I knew about her mind or anything.”

She nodded, though I could tell be her face that I kinda said too little information in too many words. “Well, I mean, I…yeah, I guess. Say, did you sleep alright?”

There was the sound of the door behind J.J. opening and closing, then Gordon walking out. His black hair was messy, wearing a black shirt with some sort of blue logo on it and his jeans. He nodded to us, moved to the bathroom, but was apparently interested in our conversation, so he just leaned against the wall near it. J.J. didn’t seem to notice. Christ, was everyone up early?

Fuck. Should I tell her about my dream? Fuck it, why not? “I mean, I had a kinda-nightmare that I got dragged out of my bed and, like, drowned or something, but other than that it was good.”

 “That sounds a lot more coherent than my dreams.,” she yawned, then smiled sheepishly. “What do you mean by ‘kinda’?”

“It felt like…I dunno, a hallucination. I guess that was why it was, uh, co-hear-hent.”

Gordon walked up, his hand to his chin. “You know what I think? You woke up way after everyone else did the first day we were here, before immediately fainting again. You had a nosebleed and a headache, possibly a migraine, on the third or so day. I think you’ve said you’ve had other headaches since then, but, I mean, I might just be making that shit up. Now you had a dream that sounded mostly like a hallucination. I mean, I ain’t a physician or anything, but if I had to guess, whatever agent whoever kidnapped us used had some side effects.”

That…that didn’t make _any_ sense. “How can a government agent have side effects?”

“What? Oh, no, no, no, when I said _agent_ , I meant like a chemical, gas, or something like that.” He rolled his eyes, and I felt a lot stupider.

“Alright.” I couldn’t help but frown.

“That sounds…possible. I mean, I only did the first course of my school’s health classes, but, I mean, drugs can do that, right?” J.J. shrugged, then scratched the back of her head.

Gordon nodded. “That’s my theory, anyway.”

This still wasn’t making sense. “Don’t side effects only last, like, one or two hours or whatever?”

The surgeon, now apparently a regular doctor, nodded again. “I mean, that’s the only – well, there’s a lot of holes in the theory, but who knows how long they had us out for? How long they had to keep applying something to keep us unconscious? It might’ve been a few days to get us here, it might’ve been a few hours, it might’ve been a fucking month. Like, if you keep taking a medicine that gives you a nosebleed – I know there’s an acne medication that does that, so it’s possible – you’ll keep oozing out of your nose. I can’t guess why the chemical hasn’t been flushed out of your symptom, though. It’s…I mean, there’s bigger things to worry about nowadays, but this is really just a big mystery.”

“Well, what if his dream wasn’t just a weird hallucination?” J.J. rolled her neck, apparently still waking up. “I mean, I think I’ve had a dream like that once ‘r twice, where it seemed real, but…say, can you remember what happened in it?”

I tried thinking, and…I remember being dragged out of my bedroom and into my bathroom…then I was…drowned in water? Maybe? Was it the toilet or the bathtub? Did I hit my head on the ground? “I mean…bits and pieces? Like, I can remember what happens in it…but, like…I dunno. I can’t put it all together in a co-hear-hent way.”

“So it sounds like a regular dream, just really vi-“ Gordon almost said, but there was the sound of static in the air, and the frames came to life with the image of Mr. Producer in his chair.

 “Good morning, my – gree – fine furry friends! It’s now daytime, so let’s get those asses u-up. Let’s make today entertaining for our viewers at home!” The P.A. system fizzled in and out, the T.V. screens had half a second of static before turning off, and I started to notice…Mr. Producer’s voice was getting more…digital. He was stuttering – how long has he been doing that? And what did he say there? Fuck, I didn’t care.

The three of us rolled our eyes, shrugged, whatever, and me and J.J. went towards the dining room as Gordon made a quick pit stop to the bathroom. We waited by the door for him to come back a minute and a half or so later, and we all entered together, with J.J. and I going straight to the kitchen and Gordon following us, not sure what we were doing.

“Anyway, Jackie,” Gordon started, and I felt a quick twinge in my heart as I remembered that that was what my mom, maybe a family friend, would call me when I was a little kid. “I dunno, maybe your dream was some sort of half-asleep one? It seems too quick to call it a hallucination. You ever done drugs before?”

I looked up at the camera, then quickly scanned the counters for a coffee maker to get my mind off of it. As my manager, my mom was always really stubborn about not letting me do _anything_ drug-like because of what would happen if anyone found out. My sponsorships and my deals and my shows? All gone. I mean, I did those painkillers once or twice, but those were just out of curiosity, late at night, in my room, and I stayed there until I was sober again. Tried to be responsible about it, y’know? I don’t think anyone did know  Plus, the hospitals and the ambulances have given me a few legally after I’ve broken my arms or legs or ribs, and I took some a couple times after the dentist if my pain swelled up afterwards. “Well, I mean, I’ve been on those really high strength painkillers after I broken bones or after I’ve had my teeth worked on. I know what it’s like, I guess.”

“Good answer,” Gordon climbed up and sat down on top of the counter island in the middle of the room. “So what’re you guys doing now?”

“Well, Jack figured we’d make coffee for everyone…I mean, after yesterday, I don’t think anyone slept,” J.J. was searching the cabinets for any sort of coffee, and I walked over and looked on the ones on the opposite side of the kitchen, only finding jars of generic spices and stuff that doesn’t spoil. She eventually found some, inside a cabinet with shit like flour and sugar in it, and slammed two big canisters of ground coffee on the counter next to the relatively giant and high-tech coffee machine with a rack of filters by it that, of course, had no brand logo or anything. “Find any sugar or, like, milk or whatever?”

“I think I saw some cubes in the second one from the left?” Gordon said, pointing. Didn’t know he was that he was that perceptive. I grabbed a cube of, well, sugar cubes from where he was pointing towards, and then grabbed a gallon jug of generic milk from the fridge.

J.J. worked the machine, I got coffee mugs and dishes and whatever else, and Gordon bobbed his head to some sort of song that was in his head. Eventually, we had 11 mugs on a big baking sheet, a spare pot, a package of sugar cubes, and that gallon of milk, plus whatever spoons we could find, and the three of us brought the bounty into the dining room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which I write an incredibly overwrought dream sequence and pass it off as good fiction, and also in which I note where a teenaged girl keeps her devices, which might make me a pervert, not that I meant it in any sort of sort of fanservice-y way, but in any case, sorry)
> 
> Not a lot to say about this chapter, sadly. It mostly just speaks for itself.  
> I can't believe I'm already at Episode 4. I honestly never thought I'd get this far. I appreciate everyone who continues to read this story for keeping me going. I honestly mean that.


	33. Jolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone bonds over a cup of coffee.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I counted all 12- uh, 10 heads, and everyone else breathed one when they saw that us three were safe.

“What do you have there?” Rebecca asked. She was wearing a long-sleeved navy sweater with a white shirt collar peeking out from underneath.

“Smells like…” Nancy, wearing a blue-ish t-shirt, some different colored and shaped bracelets on her arm, and jeans, pointed her nose in the air, her face curious, before it lighted up with a smile.

 “It was Jack’s idea!” J.J. said, placing down the tray and slapping me on the back.

“Well, I mean…” I set down the plate of sugar cubes and the carton of milk down on the table in the middle. “You guys could’ve gotten it at any time, y’know? Don’t, uh, don’t credit me for anything.”

“So, why are you doing this, huh?” Russell leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. He was wearing an orange sleeveless shirt (of course) with some sort of cargo shorts, and his dreads were loose. “You gonna poison us?”

Gordon shrugged to me and J.J. “Is there even poison in this place?”

Caroline, in a purple-ish sweater and some sort of black skirt, leaned forward and grabbed a mug, holding it in her hands like a businesswoman – really, the only way I’ve known her _to_ act like. “I mean, there has to be some sort. They gave us an entire armory to use against each other.” She sniffed the black liquid within, smiled a really tiny smile, then took the first sip, and after everyone realized there was nothing terrible within, they all took a cup and some milk or sugar or whatever.

I sat down in my old seat – the one that still had emptiness on both sides – with a cup of coffee in my hands. Not that I actually drank the stuff, I was more of a carbonation kinda guy, but I might as well, right?

“So, how did everyone sleep?” Weston smiled, his eyes closed, hiding behind a pair of gold-framed glasses with no, like, weird lenses on them – just glass. He had on some sort of vest made out of an obviously expensive grey or silver material with a white shirt underneath, along with some necklaces.

Edwin sleepily raised the mug to his lips, and then slumped into his chair. He was still in his black pajamas. “Fucking terribly.”

I sighed, putting a hand to the back of my head like I was still trying to see if it was bleeding. “Had a nightmare. It was fucking terrible.”

“What was it about?” Caroline leaned forward, her face interested.

“I got killed in it. I think. Some guy…uh…I think I was drowned in it.”

“That’s… dying in your dreams is not unusual, if you’re wondering. Please inform me about it later.” She took another dignified sip of the coffee.

“I don’t think anyone slept well, too be honest,” Sarah mumbled something to herself, and then continue in her high voice. She had on her military jacket, her beanie, and a pair of ripped skinny jeans, plus that scarf that she tended to wear though it really wasn’t cold or warm or fucking _anything_ , and her guitar was resting on the wall behind her chair. “I mean, after yesterday…”

“Don’t you have insomnia?” Gordon asked, his mug already empty, his tongue probably burned beyond recognition.

Sarah shrugged. “Had it moreso than usual. Couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Samson or hearing what happened to Dianna.”

“I’m still confused about…her death…” J.J. mumbled, obviously kinda un-alright with the topic.

“Oh! Well, if everyone’s comfortable with me explaining…” Weston started, not waiting for a confirmation. “The heat from the fire around her…well, it made her flesh boil, then it melted.” What the shit? He was so…well, he was obviously sad, but he seemed so…at ease telling us that.

“What the fuck, dude?!” Sarah leapt in, her arm already around Nancy’s shoulder, who currently had her mouth open in horror. “Why do you know what? Why the fuck do you think it’s appropriate fucking converstation to have over a cup of coffee?”

Russell shook his head. “Weston, that’s a little bit too far. Not everyone needed to know that.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Weston smiled, embarrassed. “Well, I was in a low budget teen-focused horror films  early on in my acting career, and that was my character’s fate. It’s one of my favorite on-screen moments!”

I couldn’t help but mumble something - “Good for you.”

Rebecca sighed. “Weston, we appreciate your…eagerness, but some of this information might be too graphic for some of us.”

“Oh, of course! I apologize.” The model chuckled to himself, then grinned weirdly for a second before sincerely smiling.

“Well, after that,” Rebecca sighed deeply. “Do we have any happy business to discuss?”

There was a silence, and even someone like me who fucking sucked at reading the mood, for the most part, could tell that the general opinion was that we had trouble feeling happy nowadays. I guess.

“I, uh, well…” Franklin stammered. I was now able to see his clothes – he had on a wrinkly white dress shirt with a red tie, and black pants. “I believe I have a…well, an answer to – it’s more of a hypothesis really, but probably a correct one – as to who kidnapped us and is p-putting us through this trial…”

Oh fuck, here we go.

“Well? Spit it out.” J.J. tapped her foot impatiently. Some other people agreed.

Franklin shook his head quickly. “Oh, no, no, not now, n-not now…” He said, trying to be clear and neat but kinda failing. “I need more evidence. Things to con-convince you all that it’s true. I’m sure I’ll have something of s-sub-substance tomorrow…maybe the day after…”

Russell downed the rest of his probably-still-hot coffee and sighed. “Of course. Nobody knows what the _fuck_ is going on, and we don’t know who’s behind this. For the fucking – can’t you just tell us now?!”

“No…no…no, no, no…” Franklin shook his head, his knee bouncing.

“Well – uh, well…” Weston clapped his hands together, smiling weakly.  “Do to unfortunate circumstances, we do have a new area to explore. How about we go do that?”

There was a general murmur of agreement, and after everyone finished their coffee, we left as a cluster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too obvious that I don't actually drink coffee? Unless it's loaded with so much sugar and cream that it's more like milk. I prefer really sweet stuff.  
> Sorry about the short chapter. I didn't really have a plan in my head for this chapter and the one I'm working on at the moment. I didn't know where to end it or what people would say to end it, so I basically just wrote until I felt like I got to a good stopping point. I guess that'll kinda be my undoing eventually.  
> Still working on that project, but, thankfully, it's not really taking up any of my time compared to this fic. It's more of a 'Let's Play' than anything, but one with a narrative and one using game modifications, and with an attempt at letting the readers influence the fic. I'll probably upload the first part to it soon, once I finish the first few chapters and get a good head-start so I can have a regular upload schedule until I run out of pre-written stuff and end up uploading a chapter every few months.  
> (Sorry this one is a little bit late, I got distracted by Homestar Runner's new Halloween toon.)


	34. Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack investigates his surroundings.

Just like the day after Malcolm and Sophia died, there was a new door that was open – this time, on the right side of the T hallway, on the other side of the door with the two metal ‘I’s on it. I didn’t wait for anyone to badger me to open it because I was the fucking ‘Daredevil’ or whatever, I just stepped forward and gripped the handle. It turned and opened without a fuss.

The new hallway was similar to the last wing – long hall that stretched to our right, with wallpapers that were mostly grey but slightly red, hardwood floor, picture frames of different sizes in frames made out of a metal much darker than gold. The layout was kinda like the other wing, too, but flipped – three doors on the left side of the hall, two on the right, one on the far end of the hall that probably didn’t have a knob. And, of course, there were guns and cameras – a gun on the corner by the door to the T-Hallway, and a gun across the hallway on the opposite side.

Might as well do what I did last time, I guess – go in a circle.

* * *

 

The first room on the right had wood-paneled walls, not that you could see it. Almost every inch of wall in the room was covered by picture frames, with photographs, paintings, posters, and all sorts of different things inside them. The room was lit by a kind of chandelier, and the floor was dark wood.

Nobody else was in the room. I shrugged, and took a quick glance at the pictures on the wall. Mostly just famous old paintings and black-and-white photographs. Nothing much to them. I was about to leave, but then something by the door caught my eye, so I took a step to the side and leaned in.

It was…like, some sort of group picture, an inch or two bigger than a regular book, and judging by the colors and the clothes, it was taken relatively soon. The people in it were of all different races and sizes, and they were all carrying picket signs, some with megaphones. The picture was too small to make out what the signs said, though, and I couldn’t tell any of the faces apart. I guess I was attracted to it because it was just so out of place.  It didn’t make sense. On the walls were different famous pictures, paintings – this looked like something out of a yearbook.

I shrugged again, thought about prying it off the wall to show to someone, but decided against it. I didn’t think anyone could tell me what this was…maybe Dianna or Sophia, but they were…yeah. Shit, I had to stop thinking like this.

I sighed, leaving behind the picture and those terrible feelings, going to the next room.

* * *

 

The next, and apparently final room on this side of the hallway despite having another door to go, was absolutely massive. The floor was a sort of grey tile, probably porcelain, and there were plastic lawn tables and chairs set up in different places around the perimeter of the room, or whatever it’s called when they’re around the outer edges or something. On the far left wall was some sort of…it was like, I dunno, it was like a big window, but the glass was frosted or something so you couldn’t see out of it, just white. Judging by the rules of this place, though, you’d probably get shot by the machine gun hanging from the corner if you tried to throw a chair through it or something. The only other person I could see in the room, Gordon, was standing in the corner, messing with his shirt for some reason.

I wandered forward a bit, towards one of the tables in whatever this place was, (patio, maybe?) and saw something unexpected – an orange shirt and cutoff jeans, resting on the chair.

Then, something else unexpected hit me – a splash of water on my back.

I whirled around, and, somehow, I failed to notice the massive fucking swimming pool in the middle of the room, with two handrails leading out of it, and Russell bobbing up in the water, smiling mischievously. His skin was wet and he was gliding through the pool’s water like nothing.

“So, do you just wear swimming trunks under your pants all the time or what?” I asked, walking over the tile to him.

“What? No. I’m in boxers.” He shook his head, paddling over to the side of the pool.

“So you’re swimming in your clothing?”

He paused for a second, then sighed. “In hindsight, yeah, probably not the best idea, but I don’t give a shit. I have a pool now! I have **EXCERCISE!** ” He rose both arms in the air triumphantly. “ **Fuck yeah!** ”

I head one of the door close on the other side of the room, then, suddenly, Gordon screamed, and the next thing I knew he had cannonballed into the side of the pool, into the deep end. 

“What-oh dear…” Caroline wandered over to the side of the pool, watching as Gordon rose to the top, triumphant and drenched. “Oh, good, you’re still alive.” She said, with the smallest hint of emotion in her voice.

Gordon spit out some water, apparently not caring that it was probably chlorinated and tasted like chemicals. “Come on, why wouldn’t I be? I’m invincible.”

Caroline and I rolled our eyes.

“Come on, why don’t you guys join us?” Russell asked. He was the happiest I’ve ever seen him, so far.

“I’m not much of a swimmer,” Caroline said, sounding a bit tired. “Besides, I’m not too keen on swimming with boys who are only wearing underwear.”

I shrugged. “I wanna see the other places in this wing before I get all wet.”

Caroline snickered.

“Suit yourselves, losers!” Gordon playfully tossed a bit of water up at me, thankfully avoiding my clothes. I sighed, turned around, and left.

Right before I was about to leave through the door I came in, Nancy walked through, and turned her nose in the air, making a disgusted face. “It smells like…chemicals…”

“It’s a pool.” I shrugged.

Her eyes went wide. “Really?! I’ll go grab my bathin’ suit!” She rushed out, and I walked out after her.

There were only two doors left on the other side of the hall. I walked towards one of them, and I sighed. It had no knob, like the door at the end of the hallway. Rebecca was already staring at it.

“So, they really don’t want us in this room?” I frowned, hovering my hand over where the handle would be. There wasn’t any sort of electrical feeling coming from it.

“They probably knew that Nancy could pick locks after our little expedition, and removed the remaining knobs to the rooms that they didn’t want us to access.” She felt the space between the door and the frame, like there was a magical place she could press that would make it swing open.

“Where does she know how to do that, anyway?” I shrugged, before adding, “and how do you know that she can do it?”

She knocked on the door, which didn’t help. “She seemed like the most tactile person in this mansion, so I just asked her on a whim. As it turns out, she forgot the key to her footlocker while she was at summer camp one year, and one of her counselors taught her how to bypass the lock.”

“Alright,” That seemed reasonable, I guess. But…there was something else that didn’t really make sense. “So why did they build this mansion with rooms that they didn’t want us to get in?”

“Maybe…maybe ‘they’ didn’t build this mansion. Maybe it was…well, maybe the people behind this found it like it and repurposed it for their own needs,” Rebecca did a quick scan of the door, then sighed. “Let’s hope Mason has something good for us whenever he presents that theory of his.”

I nodded, though I knew whatever he said wouldn’t be good. “Have you been to the other rooms yet?”

She shook her head. “No. I saw the one to the right of us, but none of the others.”

“Well, I haven’t seen that one.” I shrugged.

“You might want to do that,” she said, not looking in my direction. “Oh, by the way, I got a surprise for everyone at dinner. Look forward to it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s…I just said, it’s a surprise.” She smiled somewhat, waved goodbye, and left without regarding me anymore. I shrugged, watched her leave, and went to the door at my right.

* * *

 

The inside of the last room was completely white, kinda like our rooms – or, at least, mine, but, thankfully, the lights were somewhat dim, so the light didn’t reflect off of the white-ness and blind me. In the middle of the room was a bed, maybe a cot of some sort, though it looked too comfy to be a cot, with some sort of rack of magazines on the wall to the side of the bed/cot/thing. However, at a glance, I could already tell they were from _the eighties_. Fuck! That won’t help us. The top of the walls were lined with cabinets, with counters a few feet underneath and another set of cabinets underneath those. Inside one of the counters was a metal sink, and there was a small refrigerator in the corner, underneath a countertop. As soon as I entered the room and stepped inside it a little bit, I felt someone brush past me – Edwin. He had gotten dressed, and was wearing a black hoodie, some sort of navy-blue shirt underneath, and a pair of black jeans. I took a second to study the grandmaster, who was currently surveying the room, and I noticed that his clothes were loose. In fact, I remember noticing that, when we first got here, he was a kinda big, somewhat pudgy guy. Now, he was rail thin.

“Yo, dude, you don’t look so good.” I said, coming up close to him, trying to be friendly.

He eyed me. “Shit happens when you don’t eat and drink only water,” he looked away, opening one of the cabinets and looking at the fuckton of medical supplies inside. “I thought you hated me.”

“Why would you think that?” Wait, probably because…

“’Cause I tried to off your girlfriend.”

I sighed. “Yeah, that’s…kinda…whatever.” I dunno. Part of me wanted to forgive him, and part of me wanted to break his arm for even _threatening_ one of my friends.

Edwin looked inside another cabinet, not bothering to face me. “Yeah, ‘whatever’,” he grumbled for a moment. “I guess you won’t forgive me, huh?”

I thought for a minute. Should I? He was…Edwin was a dick, but he was…I dunno. I thought I could make him apologize, but I really dind’t know why he did it in the first place. “I can’t forgive you if I don’t know why you did it, y’know?”

He exhaled. “It’s a long story, alright?” After that, he carefully closed the cabinet, though it was obvious he wasn’t even looking in it anyway. “I won’t do it again.”

My face tightened a little bit, and I couldn’t help being… _slightly_ threatening. “Yeah, you better not.”

He leered at me, rolled his eyes, and walked back out and closed the door. I spent a couple of seconds in the room, which I guessed was the infirmary, and tried to estimate the time until Edwin had left, and after I thought he left the wing, I did too.

* * *

 

I stood out in the middle of the hall for a little bit. It was mostly empty – J.J. was wandering around, now dressed in a pair of jeans as opposed to the red shorts she previously had on, Franklin, about to walk out with his book in hand, and Sarah, leaning with her shoulder to the wall, her hand on the strap to her guitar case.

I sighed. I didn’t know what to do. Talk to people?  Swim? Watch a movie? None of those sounded good to me. I just wanted to…fuck, I don’t know. I wanted to talk to someone. About what’s going on. About what I’m going through, as egotistical as that sounds.

I sighed, and started walking to the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running late enough as it is regarding uploading this chapter so I really didn't have time to read-over and edit it as much as I normally do. Sorry about any and all typos!  
> Not a lot to say about this chapter. Not a lot of it was planned. I'm starting to run into that problem with some of the recent chapters and it's kinda leading to some writer's block, but it's bearable. I eventually work through them, anyway.


	35. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which songs are sung and plans are made.

In the T-shaped hallway I kinda just…I don’t know. I passed by Nancy wearing her usual clothes, heading towards the new hallway, though I guessed that she had her swimsuit on underneath it, like she originally promised.

The only thing I really wanted to do was go up to my room and sleep or do fucking _something_ that would make time go quicker. Maybe I could shock myself on a door and…wait, I don’t even know if there were any more doors to shock myself on. Shit. What the hell was there to do?

My stomach grumbled, and I realized I haven’t eaten any food for…fuck, a while. I made my way to the storeroom, though the kitchen would probably be better for having any real food, but whatever.

I went into the store room, went straight to the food, and grabbed a handful of granola bars, an MRE, and a can of cola, and headed towards the dining room.

Nobody else was there, but most everyone’s coffee mugs were still out. I sat in my chair and set up the MRE, like I did more than a few nights ago, in silence, and I put the resulting…I guess it was some sort of lasagna on a plate from the kitchen, and grabbed a fork.

I ate, well, more like I nibbled at the food thing for a little bit, maybe, like, five minutes. Then, the door opened, and I sighed. I just wanted to be alone, for fuck’s sake! Wait…did I actually? I don’t remember thinking like that recently, but the idea of being in a big room by myself did sound appealing.

Before I knew it, Caroline was sitting in the seat across the table from me, resting her head on a platform made out of her two hands.

We were silent for a couple of seconds, and I prodded my lasagna-thing with my fork. Suddenly, she decided to speak, in that weird non-emotional voice of hers that sounded way too old to come from a teenager. “I’d like for you to tell me about your dream.”

I sighed. “I don’t really remember it, sorry.”

There was a pause, then, “Do you want me to put you under hypnosis?”

I laughed for a second, and then realized that _she wasn’t joking_. “I-uh, no, no, I’m good.” Seriously, how does she know how to do that?

She shook her head. “In that case, could you tell me what you remember about it?”

What…how much of it _did_ I remember? I scratched my head, feeling my a-bit-longer hair, something that probably showed off how black it is. I couldn’t wait to cut it all off, maybe go bald for a little bit. Then, I remembered what Caroline actually asked in the first place, and thought more. “I…uh…well, I was sleeping, and…and then I was, like, dragged out of my bed by…I don’t think I could see it, and it dragged me into the bathroom and it drowned me in…like, maybe it was the toilet, maybe it was a bathtub, and…yeah.” I shrugged. It didn’t seem like I was able to remember the whole thing, but…I think that’s all that happened in it? Fuck.

Caroline nodded for a bit, and then took a second to obviously think hard. “Well, being forced to drown like that…hm,” she stroked her chin, making this weird face like she was trying to understand everything about me in a few seconds. “I believe that’s an indicator of you being in a kind of situation that’s making you feel persecuted, abused, and a generally high-stakes environment.”

I sighed. “I already knew all that shit.”

Caroline just rolled her eyes again, in that way that made me feel like I just said something horrible, which I probably did. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? How have you been feeling recently?”

I realized the somewhat-obvious attempt at asking why I might’ve freaked out last night…no, wait, it was, like, afternoon. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, though. “I’m feeling, like…” shit, I really didn’t know…”I feel like, I dunno, like…I can’t control how I think. Like, my mind is just…slipping, y’know? That I…”

“Take your time.” She said reassuringly.

“Yeah, I mean…”

The door opened up from behind me and to the right, and the next thing I knew, Sarah was sitting in her usual seat, tuning her guitar. Caroline eyed the musician, sighed, then gave me a sort of look that was meant to tell me something, but I didn’t read it. Sarah strummed her guitar for a second, looked at us, shrugged like she didn’t care, and began playing.

She played this little four-note melody, then hummed along for a second, then began singing this song about…I’m not sure. I think it was about being a fire that burned everything, including people and a house, before it dies because it has nothing else to burn. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to take it literally, but it was pretty damn literal. I don’t think I could think abstractly to save my life. That’s why I’m in lower English classes.

‘That was…” someone said from behind us. Weston. “Incredibly well done. I wish I had half of your talent, Sarah!”

The ‘incredibly talented’ Sarah shrugged.

“What was the meaning to that song, if I may ask?” Caroline leaned forward a little bit, probably to show interest.

“Uh, it’s called ‘Herostratus Lives When You Speak His Name’,” she brushed away some red locks of hair that had gotten in her face, “and, like, it’s mostly about lashing out at everyone that comes near and it eventually leads to your downfall because you’ve run out of things to fight and then when you’ve calmed down you basically have nothing left.”

Weston smiled, despite the kinda dark nature of the song. “That’s a very imaginative way to convey that feeling.”

Sarah eyed him. “Yeah, it’s…yeah.”

Caroline just seemed content to watch everyone interact.

“I mean, I liked it,” I shrugged. “Nice use of…fuck, what’s the word?”

Sarah lifted an eyebrow, which really wasn’t visible underneath her shaggy and messy hair. “Emotion? Imagery? Story?”

“The second one. I think.” Like I said, remedial English classes.

She nodded. “A lot of people have told me that.”

Caroline looked at Sarah, in a kind of way that looked like there should’ve been a smile on Caroline’s face, but there wasn’t. Of course. “Well, that is why you were selected to attend Columbia National Academy, isn’t it? Your ability to tell story through song.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that’s doing for me, huh?” Sarah exhaled, then looked guilty. “Though, uh, thakns for the compliment.” She smiled a little bit.

Caroline still looked weird, since she wasn’t smiling, but every other part of her face was.

“Honestly, it’s amazing that people like you and Franklin are able to produce things like this. People like me can only look pretty.” Weston chuckled in a shy, kind of adorable way.

Franklin…wonder where he was now?

Sarah mumbled something under her breath, but she looked up and smiled. “Thanks. I mean, you’re kinda good too. You act, don’t you?”

I looked over at Weston, and he was blushing a little bit. “Oh, not as much as I used too. I’m far from being the teenage heartthrob I was,” he sighed, maybe a bit sadly. “Puberty came and went. I didn’t get laser hair removal fast enough, and I didn’t want to get any sort of plastic surgery to bring back my youthful looks,” I didn’t know where he was coming from. He still looked like he was in middle school, maybe 8th or 9th grade. “Oh well, stars fade over time. I don’t pity myself over it.”

“The Hollywood machine chews up and spits out another piece of flesh.” Sarah mumbled.

Weston went back to smiling. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I left on relatively good terms. I still get acting jobs from time to time. Besides, being a supermodel is more rewarding in its own way.”

Caroline nodded.

The conversation stopped for a bit. I got my I.D. out of my jeans and looked at the time. 11 AM. I had no idea what to do. Shit.

The door opened and closed, and Nancy came in, wearing a towel like some sort of hooded robe. Due to her tiny frame, it pretty much took up her entire torso. She shuffled in, looked at us, smiled, and sat cross-legged by the fake fire.

“Where’ve you been?” Sarah asked, using her best big-sister voice.

Nancy grinned. “Swimmin’.”

“Oh, yes, we have a pool now, don’t we?” Weston giggled. “I’m always looking for an excuse to wear my swimsuit.”

Caroline stifled a smile.

Sarah glared at the psychologist. “What was that?”

“I…well…” Caroline began, before stopping herself. “Nothing.”

I shook my head, leaned my chair back, and looked towards Nancy. “Yo, you know that thing’s fake,right?” I asked, pointing towards the fire on the screen.

She shrugged, and then wriggled her head out of the towel-hood. “I can make one.”

I was confused, of course. “A…what?”

“A fire! I can make one. Gimme a chair.” She brought her arms out from under the cloak and pretended to rub two…something together, while grinning from ear to ear.

Sarah sighed. “You’re not making a fire.”

The scout pouted.

“Oh, please, let’s build a fire! It would be nice, wouldn’t it? We have…” Weston’s smile disappeared as I traced his eyes to Sophia’s old chair, then Samson’s. “Hm.”

Caroline still sat properly, with her hands in her lap and her head being the only part of her moving. “We have books that we won’t read and articles of clothing that we won’t read, along with empty chairs. I’m sure it would be cathartic for some people to see them burn.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “We **are not** having a fire. Too dangerous.”

I sighed. “If we have everyone there, nobody will act. Nobody’s stupid enough to throw someone into a firepit while everyone else’s watching.”

“Okay, sure,” Sarah sighed. “But where are we gonna do it? Here? On the table?”

“The pool area would be ideal,” Caroline suggested. “There’s chairs and tables already present, and if anything goes awry there’s a large amount of water right nearby.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head again. “And who’s gonna clean it up afterwards?”

Nancy loosened the towel-robe, which revealed a bit of black swimsuit. “I could do it! I clean after little’uns at camp all the time!”

Sarah glared at her friend, though it didn’t seem to be serious.

Weston clapped his hands together. “So, it’s settled then?”

Sarah sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

I smiled. “This’ll be fun.” Too be honest, I was kinda looking forward to this thing, though I didn’t know if we’d actually follow through.

“Well, I’ll start informing people of our plans!” Weston waved and left through the door.

Sarah sighed and started strumming her guitar again, Nancy smiled really cheerfully, and Caroline nodded to herself. I decided to go help Weston, waved goodbye, and left, then looked behind me at the half-finished pasta abomination, shoved that into my mouth, and finally left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I feel really horrible uploading this while France is in a state of emergency. Maybe I'm overestimating how many people actually read this thing so it's possible nobody is actually directly or indirectly affected by this, but even so, you have my deepest sympathies.


	36. Killing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack does just that.

The first person I realized I needed to tell was Rebecca. I mean, she was my friend.

I wandered around the halls, which were disturbingly empty, looking for her. I guess everyone was in the new wing. It was…just, nobody.

I was in the bedroom hallway when I heard a door close behind my back. I looked behind my shoulder.

It was Edwin. For a split second it looked like…fuck. No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Whatever. He glanced at me, rolled his eyes, and made his way towards the door. Should I tell him about our plans? Why the fuck wouldn’t I?

“Yo, bro,” I said, moving towards him. “We’re gonna have a bonfire tonight in the pool. You’re invited.”

He stared at me with really empty-looking eyes, his face disturbingly bony with all the fat practically gone. “Why?”

I shrugged. “It’d be fun. Get everyone’s mind off of what’s happened so far.”

 _“Distractions_? _Fuck_ , dude. People just need to accept that shit’s happened and it’s only gonna get worse.”

I sighed. There really was no pleasing this dude, was there? “I mean…fuck, we just need some time to chill out and act like friends. Or something.”

He shook his head again. “You guys ain’t my fuckin’ friends.”

“Have you given any of us a shot?”

He paused, actually looking me in the eyes and then looking away. “I dunno.”

“Well, think of…I mean, think of it like, I dunno, it’s a clean slate.” I struggled with finding the right words, but I knew what I wanted to say.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you did some shitty things. You could use this to, like, start over. Be nice to everyone. Be nice to Rebecca. Try to get rid of your reputation.”

He looked away, then nodded quickly. “You’re smarter than me. Then again, it ain’t hard to be.” He left without saying anything else, going through the door to the stairs.

I waited for a while, wanting for when I presumed he would leave the stairwell so I could go downstairs to look for anyone else to tell about our plans, but after a minute or two of waiting, I heard another door open, to the right. Rebecca.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” I made my way towards her, wondering why she was in her room in the first place. “Why were you in your room?”

She smiled mischievously, leaning with her back to the door. “It’s a secret.”

“What do you got in there?  A puppy?”

She laughed – well, she laughed _once_ , and really shallowly. “You’ll see at dinner.”

“Oh, hey, speaking of which…” I started. “We’re not having dinner-“

Her eyes went wide, and she interrupted me. “We’re not?”

“No, I mean, we’re having a bonfire. In the pool.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, okay.”

“Wait, why were you worried about that?”

“I want to make sure I can…nevermind.” She bowed her head a little bit, and I noticed that half of her hair, near the roots, was black, and half of it was the same brown it used to. It was a really weird hairstyle. Now that I think about it, it was probably some sort of dye that was running out – so it was probably cheap.

“So, we’re gonna see you, right?”

She paused, then looked at me strangely. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Uh…me, Sarah, Caroline, Weston, and Nancy. We’re the ones who came up with it.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank you all for thinking of this,” She smiled again, and then looked at the floor. “Wait, what will we be burning?”

“Uh…I think the chairs of…of…” I muttered, kinda awkwardly.

She nodded before I could finish my thought, and put up a hand like she was telling me to stop talking, she got the message.

“Well, uh…” I shrugged. “I’ll see you there?”

Rebecca smiled again. She seemed warmer than she normally was, less on edge. “Of course. I assume around 6?”

“I guess.”

She nodded, grabbed her I.D. from her pocket and looked at it, and walked away, waving to me as she passed, and I heard a door close a few seconds later.

I looked at my I.D.. Still 11. What should I do? Fuck. Maybe I should just…wander around? I could swim in the pool, but the only bathing suit I brought along with me was the tiny thing that Columbia National gave me. I didn’t want to have anything to do with that school anymore. I could watch a movie, like yesterday, but…something else bad happened yesterday. Something really bad. I don’t want to be reminded of that. I could…I could read a book? But I wasn’t really a fan of reading. I could talk to people.

Yeah. I liked the sound of that.

I walked around the mansion, looking for someone to interact with. The dining room was now empty, for some reason. Every other room in the T hall was empty, too. Shit.

I went into the new wing, and entered the first door on my left. I think it was the art room?

Yeah, it was. The only other person in there was Franklin, staring at a portrait of a young girl with blue hair and some sort of blue wrap around her head.

I walked towards him, trying to be friendly and open. “Hey, man, have you heard about the fire?”

He put up a finger, though he didn’t look my way. “Yes, but…isn’t this beautiful?”

“What?”

“This…this art. It’s all…” he sighed. “It’s all s-so incredibly…fake.”

“Didn’t you say it was beautiful?”

“Yes…yes, it’s just…it’s am-amazing that they managed to fake it so _well_ …there’s fake brushwork…the colors are all ex-exact…this room is just…”

“Great?”

“No…it fillls me with…thi-this ennui. Most museums do…this…this…I can’t describe it.”

“You can try, can’t you?” I shrugged. Where was this going, exactly? And what was ‘ennui’?

“Imagine all of the…imagine the paintings that have been…that were lost b-before they…were documented. Imagine…try to imagine the ones that the painter gave up on…even if it was fantastic. If it was going to be…be one of the masterpieces. Imagine the paintings that have been lo-lost in t-time, to fire or death. Nobody saw them. Nobody knew they existed. And we **won’t** know.”

“I…” What? Just… _what?_ “Why are you thinking of that?”

“I think about things…things other than films and do-doc-documentaries and…the g-government,” he turned towards me, his eyes wrinkled and bagged.  “What do _you_ think about, hm?”

“I…uh…” I was put on the spot. Fuck. I looked around, and then saw that picture I was curious about earlier. “I mean, I thought about this thing for a little bit,” I pointed towards the framed picture near the door. “I didn’t know what it was.”

“Let me see.” Franklin walked over and bent over in front of it, his head level to the frame. “Why?”

“I mean, the rest of this room is, like, classical paintings. This looks out of place.”

He grabbed the picture from the wall, turning it over, and looking at the paper back of it. There wasn’t any writing or anything. Then, he flipped it over, took of his glasses, and stared at the blank faces and the blurry signs. “It…it took me a few seconds, but…I know this. I knew I’ve seen it before. This…this is from the American Interior Intelligence Agency protest by…by…” he looked up at the ceiling, his mouth moving but no words coming out. “Oh…damn. Blackened…Bl-black…I…I seemed to have forgotten the name. It…started with ‘black’, and…they’re a cyber-terrorist cell. American.”

I nodded. “That’s a bit weird to have here, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, carefully placing the picture back on the wall, though his hands were still trembling as always. “I’m sure Ms. Chubbuck could tell you more.”

My mind tried to process what he said, then I was just…what the _fuck_. “Dude. Dianna’s dead! Are you serious?!”

He chuckled. “Oh, yes, I seem to have…it’s all fake anyway, don’t pay it any mind.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! This is…” I was starting to get really…actually fucking angry! “This is fucking reality. People are fucking dead, dude! Don’t just-“

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they’re d-dead…just a little…joke, it’s just a joke. It’s all a joke.”

I could feel my face wrinkle with disgust. “Some fuckin’ joke.”

“Don’t get-get so worked up, Jack…I’ll present my theory soon, then…then everything will make sense.”

I sighed. “Will your ‘theory’ get us out of here?”

“Perhaps…perhaps…” he mumbled, though he was smiling.

More sighing. “So is that all you have to say? How this…this thing is gonna save us all.”

“It will enlighten you, to say the least.” He chuckled, then leered at me, looking like he was gonna say something else. He didn’t.

“Well, uh, I guess I’ll wait until then.” I shrugged, and started making my way towards the door. He didn’t seem to notice me exit.

I leaned against the door after I closed it and sighed. Dude was losing his mind.

There really wasn’t anyone else in the hallway. Well, J.J. was there, walking down the hallway, so I shrugged. Might as well.

 “Hey, what’s up?” I went over to her, and caught her by surprise, apparently. She wheeled around on her heel, then relaxed visibly when she saw me.

“Howdy,” she said, smiling, then went back to the wall and leaned on it with her shoulder. “How are ya?”

I shrugged. “Alright. Have you heard about the fire yet?”

“Yeah, Weston informed me. Good idea you guys had. I was ponderin’ what we’d do to those chairs.”

I paused. “So, you don’t think it’s, like, disrespectful or anything?” I had been thinking about that for a little bit, but I still wasn’t sure.

J.J. thought for a second. “Maybe, yeah, maybe for Samson’s, but…I won’t miss Sophia’s. Maybe Dianna’s. It ain’t a big deal. You have to learn to move on, right? It’ll be a good start.”

I nodded. “I guess.”

She stepped forward a bit, cocking her head to the side a little bit. “You alright? You seem…I dunno. Restless.”

I tried to answer her question, and I suddenly became aware of what exactly my body was doing. I was kinda…bouncing back and forth. Tapping my hand against the studs on my belt. Tapping my foot. Shit, I was full of energy for some reason. “I…I mean, I guess I am?”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve been all over the place today, I guess.” That was actually 100% honest.

“Mentally or physically?”

I shrugged. “Both, I guess. I’m really just looking for a way to spend my time.”

“You know what you could do?” She smiled slyly. “We could have a Western flick marathon, you ‘n’ me.”

Was she…coming on to me? I…probably not, right? But…I mean, she was probably just being nice. “Uh…do we have enough to last us until six?”

J.J. shrugged. “Probably. I dunno how many we got,” she smiled again before continuing. “But I betcha I’ve seen ‘em all.”

I nodded, kinda curious. “So you have a bit of a hobby?”

She laughed hard. “Between rodeos, riding in Wyomin’, and school, I’m watchin’ one. I mean, my dad had the biggest collection probably in the state and I was at home a lot before I got my first horse, what was I supposed to do?” She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, which was a kinda weird thing to do, since she otherwise seemed like a tomboy.

“Hey, that’s cool, I mean, I know what it’s like. I’ve been around cars ever since I was a little kid. I know my way around them.”

She exhaled. “At least you have a practical skill. I just sit on my ass and watch cowboys shoot vacqueros and cattle rustlers.”

“I mean…didn’t you say you did rodeos and riding around in Wyoming? Isn’t that why Columbia National Academy got you in the first place?”

“I, well, shit, do you think I’m happy about getting selected now?” Another exhale, then she smiled. “Eh, it ain’t a big deal. You won’t get anywhere if yer angry at how your life turned out. Ya just gotta admit that you ain’t in control, right?”

I shrugged. That little thought kinda came out of nowhere. “Pretty wise of you to say.”

“Oh, I ain’t wise. I ain’t smart,” she chuckled a bit more, then shook her head. “I…shit, I’m just average.”

 “You’re pretty damn better than average.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she said, but she still smiled my way. “So, does that flick marathon sound good?”

I nodded. Any way to pass the time, right?

“Alright, let’s go!” J.J. cracked her knuckles like she was about to fucking punch someone’s teeth in instead of watch a bunch of western movies, made her way to the door,  beckoned me over, and we walked the last couple of steps over to the T.V. room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a chapter coming right up after this, just a heads up.  
> Not a lot to say about this chapter except that it was 100% improvised. My habit of doing that is gonna bite me in the ass some day.


	37. This Town Ain't Big Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack flexes his movie-watching muscles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a chapter right before this, Killing Time. Check that out before you read this!

_Boom Town_

First released: 1978

The first one we watched followed a gang of outlaws who arrives in a town that’s small but also rich? I don’t get it. They tear up the town, have a lot of gunfights, cheat each other out of riches, have sex with whores…it was, like, I dunno. It was alright? It was really dated, and I was really only interested in the shooting parts. The sex was gross. The idea of the gang dwindling due to killing each other over their treasure was pretty cool, but…as soon as I realized I liked it, I remembered what was going on in my life and I was immediately disgusted. Not a lot else to say. Just like they tried to shove every Western cliché into the movie.

Final Score: 7/10

After that, J.J. looked for a new movie, sighed, then started playing…

_We’re Reasonable People_

First released: 1984

Like Boom Town, this one involved a gang of people riding into a town. However, this one had the town be really nice and helpful and also really pushy to drink alcohol. Surprise! The townsfolk drugged the booze, dragged the people to the stable, butchered them, and ate them. Had some really racist bits when  mayor of the town tells the main gang guy that they learned how nutritious human flesh is from the ‘Injuns’ and had a bunch of whooping and savage Native Americans save the mayor from bandits while he’s away from the town in a flashback and show him how to eat humans, which he tells his townfolk. Other than that, it was a pretty okay slasher movie disguised as a Western.

Final Score: 8/10

At this point Gordon wandered in and wondered what we were doing. We told him about our marathon, so he joined in. After that, J.J. popped in…

_Reasonable People: The First Taste_

First Released: 1986

This one was a prequel to _We’re Reasonable People_ ,  following the mayor from the first movie coming back from his first taste of human flesh with the ‘savage Indians’ and trying to convince the townsfolk to eat it with him. Though, he wasn’t actually the mayor yet? He was just the town’s butcher. After he convinces the town to eat, it had a lot of grossout segments involving tearing off flesh from corpses. Gordon had a lot of fun pointing out to us the inaccuracies in the movie’s anatomy and actually knew the nutritional value of human for some reason, including that people couldn’t survive off of the meat collected since the meat shown on-screen was leaner than normal or something like that. It was a really terrible movie when compared to the first – it got rid of the slasher movie aspects and just had a lot of ‘hey, look at how gross it looks to strip skin from flesh! LOOK AT THESE ENTRAILS! WOW!”. Apparently, J.J. didn’t like these ones since they weren’t ‘true’ Westerns, but she thought I’d like them. For the record, the first one was neat, the second was just fucking awful.

Final Score: 3/10

After that last shitshow, J.J. looked for something else, sighed, said that her favorite wasn’t in the selection, and that the ones we had left all had violence and sex to some extent. I wasn’t surprised.  She then put in…

_Hell’s Hinges_

First Released: 2005

Apparently this one was based on a really old movie? Like, it was a remake. J.J. liked pointing out all the little references in the film, none of which I understood. It was about a Reverend who goes to this town and tries to help the town find the Lord, but nobody wants any of it. There was a lot of confusing cuts and stuff, and I didn’t really understand a lot of it. The Reverend ends up doing some sinning, the townsfolk burn down the church, some guy the Reverend talked to early on has his…sister die? I dunno. It was just really depressing. The one guy ends up going on a path of vengeance. That part was cool. I really was only able to understand the ending.

Final Score: 5/10

J.J. sighed when she realized we didn’t have a lot of other ones to choose from. “Well, we can watch…uh…”

“Do we have any like the second one?” I asked.

She shook her head. “We can watch one about literal whores killin’ a gang of outlaws, or a gang of cattle rustlers…” another sigh. “These are all _shit_!”

“Hey, what else can we watch? What other movies do you like?” Gordon suggested, nodding his head and tapping his fingers on the couch.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ like a good Western, y’know? A right-minded individual cleanin’ up a town with only his six-shooter and his horse, a good sense of right ‘n’ wrong, the good guy always wins in the end, it’s optimistic! But these are all…the villains win, the good guy dies, the morality’s grey as hell…”

Gordon shrugged. “Hey, ain’t that life?”

“Life has justice, and everyone gets their just deserts in the end. The good get rewarded, the bad guys get punished. We might have to, y’know, hurry the process a little bit, but it all works out in the end.” She turned towards us and smiled, like she thought what she just said was good.

“That’s a…that’s a good thing to think,” I nodded. “’Specially nowadays.”

J.J. smiled at me and Gordon. “Thanks, I think so too.”

“Hey, so what else can we watch?” Gordon asked, still nodding and tapping. “What ab-“

The door opened, and we all turned towards whoever came in. Edwin.

“Yo, guys…” he started, avoiding eye contact with everyone, but he was somewhat trying to be friendly. “Fire’s startin’ soon. Pool.”

“Thanks.” Gordon got up and made his way towards the door, smiling earnestly at the grandmaster, who looked weirdly at the surgeon, and then the door was closed.

J.J. looked at me. “Should we…trust that guy?”

“Who, Edwin?”

J.J. looked at the door, like she could see through it and at Edwin on the other side.“He wanted to kill off Rebby, didn’t he? He framed her twice. And he always seemed so…cold towards everyone.”

I mean…yeah, she was right, but…”Why would he lie about us having the fire now?”

She shrugged. “I just don’t trust that fel…” she paused, before, for some reason, speaking in her regular New England voice. “Him. I just don’t trust Edwin.”

“He may be trying to be nice for once,” I tried to not make it sound like _I_ was the one who actually made him do that in the first place. “Maybe we should be nice to him too?”

J.J. curled her lips, then sighed, still talking in her un-accented voice that was kinda weird to hear. “Maybe. But there’s something that I just don’t like about him. Call it my instinct,” she said, slowly walking towards the door. “Are you coming or not?”

I nodded, got up from my fairly comfortable spot on the couch, and went towards the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun coming up with those movies. Honestly, fake pop culture is one of my favorite things to create.  
> Like last chapter, not a lot to say about this one. Sorry I'm coming up blank on a lot of these.


	38. Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack warms up.

The pool room/patio/whatever had its lights turned off, and the only light was really coming from a bunch of blue lights in the middle of the right side of the room. People’s I.D.’s, right? There was this small sound of guitar strumming coming from the lights, probably from Sarah.

Me and J.J. walked towards the lights, me still a bit confused, but J.J. probably had it figured out already. As we got closer, we saw that the lights were, in fact, the I.D.s of the other people here, and they were illuminating Russell breaking up a chair from the dining room into bits and pieces, with Nancy standing next to him. There was another chair behind him, still in one piece, and the people holding their I.D.s in the air were also surrounded by the deck chairs from the outside of the pool. However, there were only nine other lights – that meant someone was missing.

“Who’s gone?” I asked as we got closer.

“Franklin said he was tired, so he went to his room early.” Caroline informed us.

“Don’t get it too damp!” Nancy chimed up, watching Russell, two…things in her hands. She had on a t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, apparently out of her swimsuit.

Russell laughed, piling the pieces of the chair to the side of what I think was the removed top of a metal deck table.  He was also out of his swimsuit (or, at least, he changed his boxers), now wearing a black t-shirt and khaki shorts. “I’m tryin’ my best, Nancy!” He turned to the other chair, snapping the back off half with an impressive ease, then breaking off the arms and legs and the pieces of wood connecting them to the chair. He threw all the pieces on top of the wood pile, now about as tall as my pelvic bone.

“Y’all ready?” Nancy asked, kneeling down to the table surface.

“No.” Sarah mumbled the sound of guitar stopped for a second. I didn’t see exactly how she was sitting, but her I.D. light was down by the ground, illuminating a small area of denim behind it.

Gordon sighed. “Sarah, c’mon, we have a substantial body of water literally _right_ there!”

Someone sighed. Judging by how high the exhale was, it was probably Sarah.

Nancy got her two thingies ready – from what I could see, it was a tiny metallic thing and a tinier metallic thing. She pressed the tinier metallic thing on top of the tiny metallic thing, began rubbing the tinier thing and the tiny thing together, blowing on it, and after a few dozen seconds, the tinier metallic thing – which I now noticed was a paperclip – began to fucking glow red hot! Everyone else ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ with amazement, including me. She kept blowing on it, then she moved the paper clip to a medium-sized pile of crumpled paper, probably from a book, still blowing on it. The paper began to catch fire, and Nancy sat back with a look of pride on her face, putting the tiny thing – apparently a battery – and placed it behind a deck chair, then grabbed two chair arms and carefully placed them next to the burning paper.

“That was…impressive,” I could see Weston’s face emerge from the darkness, now growing larger as people were returning their I.D.s to their pockets. “I’ll definitely have to remember that…I’m always so amazed by the talents people here have!”

“Hehe, thanks…” Nancy said, warmly.

“Does anyone think it’s a bit Orwellian to be burning a book?” Rebecca said, and I could hear the sound of someone sliding into a creaking plastic chair. I had no idea what she meant.

“This is…well, it isn’t exactly survival, and we don’t necessarily have to do this…” Caroline began, and, of course, she knew exactly what Rebecca was talking about. “This is a different situation entirely, however. Besides, nobody was going to read, erm, ‘ _100 Adventures in Seductive Romance_.”

“I suppose.” Rebecca said. I noticed that I could see the glints from the lenses from the people who were wearing glasses.

There was the sound of a hand hitting plastic. “Jack, J.J., please, sit.” Caroline said, I think, and as my eyes became adjusted to the darkness, I could see two empty chairs by her.

I tried to walk around the chairs and sat in the one that Caroline pointed out. “Thanks.”

“Nah, I’m good,” J.J. said, her voice returning to it’s normal Western-ness. I kinda wondered what was up with her switching back when she was bad-mouthing Edwin. “I like standin’.”

We were silent for a few seconds. The fire was catching to the two chair arms Nancy initially put on. Russell, sitting relaxed by the wood pile, tossed another arm on, then another.

There was the sound of someone shuffling in their chair, then Edwin asked, “Who’s chairs are those, the ones we’re burnin’?”

Russell shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Edwin relaxed into his chair. “Guess not.”

There was a bit of silence, then Rebecca cleared her throat. “Well, now that we’re all settled, I have a gift for all of you. Russell, if you’d please?”

Russell nodded, like he knew what was going on, and got up from his relaxed position. He walked over to the corner of the pool room, using his I.D. for light, then came back carrying a…thing. A box. Probably two or three feet on all sides. He set it where he was previously sitting, and Rebecca leaned over and dragged it across then tile to in front of her chair.

“Now, as I’m sure all of you know, we were subjected to a ‘personality poll’ by the people running this situation. The viewers of our program selected which of us they liked the best. This went on for a week. I won third place this week,” Rebecca announced. Were we really only a week into this? Shit. Rebecca put out her hand in my direction. “Jack, your knife, if you please.”

I pulled out my pocket knife, didn’t bother to pull out the blade, and handed it to her. Why did she think I had my knife on me? But, I guess, it didn’t bother me. Rebecca smiled in appreciation, got out the blade, and dragged it across the taped line.

Sarah stopped strumming for a second.“So…you don’t know what’s in it?”

Rebecca shrugged. “I have a good idea what’s in it.” She closed the knife, handed it back to me, and I shoved it back in my pocket like I would with my phone. It’s a wonder I haven’t cut open my thigh with it yet. She then opened up the box, brought out her I.D. as the fire was still small, and looked inside. I tried to get up a little bit and see what was in it.

It was a bunch of little boxes, with a paper note on top. Rebecca carefully picked up the note, held her I.D. up to her eye, and read aloud.

> Congradulations, Basketcase! You were in third place of Week 1 of the personality polls hosted on the Despair America website!
> 
> In recognition of your not-quite victory (because, in reality, you were really only second loser), we have provided you with a somewhat interesting thing – food! We have compiled several _name brand_ items of snacks and delectables so you can gorge and binge and purge like you used too!

Rebecca’s voice was trembling as she read, but she continued for the last few bits.

> I hope you enjoy your relapse! I know your mom, psychiatrist and pediatrician will.
> 
> -Mr. Producer

Rebecca was still for a second, then her eyes went wild and began tearing the letter into little pieces, exerting every last bit of her energy into fucking decimating the piece of paper, and throwing all of the pieces into the fire in one big toss, but they just fell at her feet, and she watched the bits for a second before holding her head in her hands, staring at the floor, and sighing heavily.

“That was…needlessly pointed.” Gordon grumbled.

Nancy sighed. “Mine…mine was too.”

Rebecca looked up. Her eyes were already tire, but her face still had some traces of anger. “You…you won? What did you get?”

The scout looked at the fire for a second, and then she curled her legs to her chest. “He…Mr. Producer said that…people only selected me ‘cuz…” Her voice was wavering, and she was obviously fighting back tears.

“Nancy, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. It’s fine.” Sarah said, reassuringly.

The scout buried her face in her knees. “He gave me pictures of my family, my ma and pa, ‘n told me how much they hated me ‘cuz…I don’t…I don’t…wanna say anythin’ else.”

Sarah put down her guitar into the case nearby, scooted over by Nancy, and put her arm around her.  The air got awkward and heavy.

“Well…I’m sorry he had to tell you all that, Nancy,” Rebecca sighed, digging her heel into the cluster of torn up fragments. “And I’m sorry I had you all listen to that.”

“Is it anything you two would like to discuss in a group setting?” Caroline was still calm and monotone.

“No, no, no…” Rebecca smiled weakly. “I’m sure you’ve all heard enough of me this past week.”

Nancy quickly shook her head.

Russell tossed a chair leg onto the fire, then pat Rebecca’s knee. “Hey, how about we get to that food, huh?”

Rebecca nodded slowly. “Here, I’ll get them out.” She pulled the box over, leaned into it, and pulled out the first package inside. It was covered in bright zig-zag lines, with a smiling, somewhat exaggerated donkey mascot wearing a sombrero. Memories from my childhood popped up, and I immediately recognized them. Fiest-Cakes. They were mass-produced tres laches, but they tasted just as good as from any of the authentic Mexican restaurants in town.

“Okay, hand those over.” I held out my hand impatiently, my tone of voice maybe too forceful.

Rebecca smiled. “Of course. Enjoy yourself.”

I didn’t hesitate to pull open the top and pick up the perfectly square cake, golden with a milky white icing top, and bit into it. It was exactly how I remembered them – thick, creamy, and so sweet I felt my teeth hurting. I’m going to try and keep these around for a while.

“Well, let’s see what else we have – wow, there is a _lot_ in here…” Rebecca kept digging in, before retrieving a transparent cube-ish container with small brown squares inside of it. Probably chocolate. “Artisanal Organic Chocolate Cubes.”

“We could just pass it down the circle.” Weston suggested.

“Excellent idea.” Rebecca handed it to Gordon, who unscrewed the lid and popped a square into his mouth.

“How is it?” J.J. asked.

Gordon smiled. “It’s free-range chocolate. You can tell by how lean it is.”

Sarah chuckled.

“Oh, come on, one reaction?” Gordon grimaced, but you could tell he was joking. He passed the container over to Caroline, who carefully retrieved a cube, maybe she was trying not to touch any of the others? That’s how she acted, anyway. She placed into her mouth, closed her eyes for a second, and let loose a small smile, before passing it to me. My mouth was still filled with tres laches, so I passed.

As the container got passed around, Rebecca dug into the box and grabbed another thing of food – this time, it was a 2-pound bag of those gummi bears that every candy company makes. That was also passed around, but without a lot of fanfare.

Next was a package of miniature cupcakes. Nancy asked for those. I guess we all kinda felt bad for her after what she confessed (or, what little she confessed), so they were handed over without a lot of fuss. Russell added more wood to the fire.

We dwindled through the last few snacks petty quickly. A box of something called ‘gooey butter’ cookies that I’ve never even heard of, but they were good, chewy and, well, buttery. A few chocolate bars with almonds in them, basic shit. Roasted-garlic flavored potato chips that, J.J. informed us, were her favorite kind. Another two pound bag of gummi soda bottles? They apparently tasted like cola and orange soda and root beer and other stuff, but only I was brave enough to try them. They tasted alright. I guess that’s why I’m a daredevil. The fire kept growing as Russell added more legs and arms to it until it was about as high as my waist.

After we passed out the snacks, we were silent for a little bit. I put another tres laches in my mouth, going back on my previous promise of making them last.

“Did anyone else…” Caroline started, no food in her hands, making me a happier person than her. “Did anyone else notice that Mr. Producer never calls us by our names?”

Gordon visibly paused for a second. “That’s…huh.”

“Has he really not?” J.J. asked. Her bag of gross garlic potato chips was in her hand, open.

“No, he’s been calling us these nicknames…’Hippie’ for Sophia, ‘the blonde chick’ for Dianna…” Rebecca informed J.J., before scratching the back of her head. “Though, that last one isn’t really a nickname…”

“Why does he do that?” I asked. I hadn’t really noticed that before.

“Perhaps it’s a technique to dehumanize us. To degrade us. Similar to referring to someone as ‘it’.” Caroline suggested. She probably knew what she was talking about.

There was another quiet moment. Nobody knew what else to suggest. Weston decided to break it, though I didn’t know why he would.

“How about…how about we play a game?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this really early because I have somewhere to be tonight. I don't know when I'll be back, and, honestly, I don't want to end up uploading this one at like 9 at night.  
> Not much to say. No angst in this chapter, I think! I had a lot of fun writing about all the snacks and such, given that I love food. Also you should make yourself some tres laches and gooey butter cakes sometime! They're delicious.


	39. Fibbing`

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone lies.

Weston coughed.  We were all unsure of how to process his request. Game? What kind of game? It probably was harmless…I mean, we really didn’t have anything to risk unless he had a revolver with a bullet in it.

I smiled, though I was still abit unsure. “Left my BlackMachine at home.”

Weston laughed in a really kind way. “No, not that kind of game, Jack! A campfire game. Like the ones you do at summer camp.”

Nancy’s face lit up. “Oh! I can do a lot of those! Whaddaya guys wanna play? Whaddaya in the mood for?”

Gordon was tapping his foot against the tile. “Honestly, I don’t really think I know enough about you guys. Like, we haven’t really had a…something like this.”

“So Two Truths and a Lie?” Nancy suggested. Her voice was pretty much chock-full of enthusiasm.

Edwin’s eyebrow was raised in curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Well, y’ say three things ‘bout yourself, but one of them’s a lie! And y’ gotta make it interesting!” Nancy answered. “So you have to say interesting things ‘bout yourself like ‘I had three surgeries’ or ‘I was abducted by aliens!’ And don’t make ‘em ‘bout your talent, that’s too easy!”

“I’ll play.” Caroline said, deadpan.

Everyone else agreed.

Nobody said they’d go first.

There was silence.

“So, uh…” Nancy mumbled. “Should I go?”

“Feel free.” Weston said reassuringly.

“Okay, uh…” The scout thought to herself. “I own a turtle…I like death metal, and I, uh, I can count from 500 backwards.”

“Death metal.” I immediately suggested. “You’re too young.”

“Yeah!” She smiled, watching the fire grow, and watching Russell toss another arm on. It was getting fairly big, and I could feel the warmth from where I was sitting. The area was growing brighter and brighter.“I like experimental naturalistic pop music.”

“What.” I flatly said.

She giggled.

“Oh, I know that kind of stuff!” Sarah said. Her guitar was resting back in it’s case, for some reason. “Stuff like _Neon Hotel_?You have good taste.”

Seriously, what?

“Shouldn’t you go next, Jack?” Gordon suggested. “You did get it in one go.” Nancy and Rebecca agreed.

I sighed. “Alright, alright…” What was a good lie? What was a good _truth_? “Uh, my career started from, like, an energy drink can…I, uh…”

“Hey, didn’t Nancy say nothing about your talent?” Sarah mentioned.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t about my talent.”

“Eh, I’ll allow it.” Nancy said, like she was the queen of the campfire.

“Yeah, so, that,” I started again, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, and…uh…I-I was in a play once.”

“Last one.” Edwin said right away.

“Shit, how did you know?”

He smirked. “You fucked up when you were speaking, you stuttered. It’s a classic idiot tell.” I guess he was having trouble adjusting to my words of ‘be a nice guy, you asshole’.

Rebecca looked at me. She had her glasses on, and they were glaring from the light of the fire, but I could still see her eyebrow raise and her face turn quizzical. “What’s that about an energy drink can?”

This was an answer I was prepared for. I always said it in, like, all of interviews. “So, uh, I saw this ad on a can of Mountain Energy when I was in middle school, and they said they were looking for the ‘next best American teen skater’, y’know, stupid buzzwords. They had a big cash reward. So I submitted a video to them, had a family friend who worked in the local news edit it, did a few really hard tricks in the desert ‘round the state and ‘round town, and they liked it. I went to the Triple Gold Games that year, and they liked me enough that they brought me back for the next few years. It kinda went from there.”

She nodded.

“That’s kinda cool.” Russell said, before carefully placing a few legs on the fire. 

I shrugged.

“So, I’m next, huh?” Edwin leaned back, looking at the dark ceiling. “I beat the Argentinian National Grandmaster once. I was prom king. I have a record collection.”

J.J. scratched her chin. “Prom king.” Gordon and Caroline agreed.

“You sayin’ I ain’t prom king material?” Edwin smirked again. “Cause I ain’t. It was a prank. Hated every second of it. I never beat the Argentinian National Grandmaster. Don’t even know the fucker’s name.”

“Shit, dude,” Russell seemed…actually really sympathetic. “Your entire student body elected you to prom king? Why?”

The grandmaster sighed. “Fuck if I know. I was a shy kid. I tried to keep my chess life and my school life separate, y’know? But the assholes got wind of it, they learned how painfully awkward I was…it was just one big fuckin’ joke. I mean, the principal asked me about the whole shitshow when he saw how unhappy I was and he chewed out all the other students, that was good, but it was still a fuckin’ mess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Russell said, his face depressed on behalf of Edwin.

Edwin sighed. “Don’t be.” 

“Well, uh, I should go next, huh?” J.J. said, trying to get the topic from its current uncomfortable-ness. “I learned how to ride a horse be-“

Gordon corrected her. “No talents!”

“If Jack can say his, then I can say mine, right? But, yeah, I learned how to ride a horse before I could drive, I still don’t know how to drive, and, uh, I like a Rueben sandwich.”

People audibly thought for a second, before Caroline spoke up. “You can’t not know how to drive. You’re a mature young woman.”

“Heh, thanks for the compliment, but it’s the last one. I’m a vegetarian.” J.J. felt the back of her neck, like what she just said was kinda awkward instead of fairly normal.

“I didn’t know that.” I mentioned.

She shrugged. “I made an exception for this place after the second day since I didn’t know if I could get any actual nutrition, but we only seem to have synthetic meat here, so…I guess it don’t matter much?” She wasn’t using a lot of cowboy lingo in her speech now – wonder why? “I just don’t like eatin’ meat. After being so close to horses all my life…just feels weird.”

“Your body language…it suggest that you’re uncomfortable with that fact,” Caroline said with a slight hint of warmness in her voice. “Why?”

J.J. sighed. “I didn’t want y’all of connecting me with Sophia.”

Sophia…it all seemed like a distant memory. So did Malcolm….god, fucking Malcolm. And Dianna and Samson…in fact…fuck, I couldn’t remember a lot of stuff about what happened before I was taken here.

“You’d have to do a lot to make us think of you like we think of Sophia.” Sarah said, kinda bluntly.

Gordon shrugged. “Should we think of her that badly, though?” then, as an afterthought, he added “Sophia.”

“Her intentions were terrible _She killed Malcolm_. She confessed to being a terrorist to us,” Russell said. His expression was completely serious, and his chiseled face made him seriously look like a statue. “She’s – she was – probably the worst person to come here.”

“Did she deserve to get crushed to death, though?” Rebecca countered.

Russell shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And did Dianna deserve to be _boiled alive_?” Rebecca’s face was getting more angry.

“They were murderers. They deserved what was coming. It’s only right.”

Rebecca growled. “Listen, you-“

“WOAH! Woah, woah…” Sarah said, kinda defensively. “Look, we can argue any time, lord fuckin’ knows we have the time for it. Just…don’t do it now, alright? We’re supposed to be happy now, aren’t we? So just knock it off.”

Rebecca grumbled something, pretty obvious that she didn’t want to stop. Russell nodded understandably.

“Well, I, uh...it’s Caroline’s turn, isn’t it?” J.J. said, trying to get the conversation back in order.

“Wha-oh…dear…” Caroline muttered. “I don’t like…I’m not fond of being put on the spot, so to speak…” she mumbled something to herself, and then she began. “Well…I-I’d like to go into human resources one day, I have – well, it’s my family, we own five cats, and I, uh, well…”

“It’s gonna be the last one, isn’t it?” Edwin interrupted.

“Well, no, if you have bothered to hear me out, it would have been my statement about cats. I’m allergic. The last one would’ve been about my sixteen scholarship offers before I was admitted to Columbia National Academy.” Caroline refuted, her voice suddenly sharp and harsh.

“Jeez, sorry.” Edwin mumbled. Under his breath he mumbled something like ‘gloating, much?’ but I don’t think anyone heard it but me.

“So, uh…uh…” J.J. mumbled, again, trying to get away from the awkward conversation.  “Who’s next, huh?”

Nobody else offered to go. I guess we all were used to the structure.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind going,” Sarah said, then, without any prompt, she went ahead and said her things. “I drive a Delmar Mulaney convertible, I can’t swim,  and I have two different computers that belong to me.”

J.J. shrugged awkwardly. “What’s a Mulaney?”

I jumped in. Finally, my knowledge of cars would get me somewhere. “It’s a really expensive convertible with V-8 582 horsepower engine and ABS, and that is your lie, because there is no way in hell you could own a Delmar!”

Sarah put her hands up. “You got me.”

“Aren’t your parents fucking loaded, though?” Edwin asked. Was he even still trying to be nice?

Sarah shrugged. “Define ‘loaded’. I mean, we have a nice house, but that’s it.”

“Wait, y’ can’t swim?” Nancy asked. She was genuinely surprised, and she was looking right into Sarah’s face.

“Nope. Even though Washington is a coastal state.” Sarah exhaled in what I guess was a laugh.

“Hey, at least you’re not in Hawaii.” Gordon smiled.

Weston raised an eyebrow. “Is that one of yours? That you can’t swim?”

“I was swimming today, bro,” Gordon shrugged. “But, uh, if you want me to do mine, I will. Uh, well, I like bad romance novels, I repair clocks for fun, and I have a small tattoo of a dolphin on my left asscheek.”

Someone laughed awkwardly.

“I, uh, is it the last one?” Russell said, unsure.

Gordon chuckled. “Well, I can’t stand mushy shit, I do repair clocks for fun, y’know, to keep my hand steady, and, well, I fell asleep at a party once and I liked it so much that I got the real thing done,” then, as an afterthought, he added “And don’t think about seeing it, because I think that’s against the rules.”

“Yes, it is,” Rebecca said, smoothly bringing out her I.D. with one hand, then tapping the screen once with her other hand. “No indecent conduct. I assume flashing your rear end would end with you getting eviscerated.”

What does that mean? Oh well.

“Well, that sucks.” Gordon said, obviously sarcastic.

“So, uh, I guess I should go…” Russell scratched his chin for a second. In the light from the fire, I could see some small scraps of hair coming up from it. “Well, hm…I like the works of Alexander Humboldt, preferably his writings during the American realism period and his several poems about the then-coming idea of globalization, my father and my mother met during their time studying abroad in Norway, and I used to be going to Gwinnett University in Georgia on a football scholarship, but after my admittance to Columbia National Academy, I’m going to re-evaluate my higher-education goals and possibly be able to enter an Ivy League school.” 

“Wow, those all sound…” Gordon muttered. “Those are all badass.”

J.J. smiled. “I really don’t want any of those to be false, y’know?”

“Do you want me to spoil it?” Russell offered.

“No…actually, I bet it’s the Georgia thing.” I said. I don’t know why it seemed…wrong to me, but it did.

“Well, actually, my parents met in the Armed Forces.” Russell said in a not-shitting-you tone of voice.

Gordon threw up his hands. “That’s even better!”

A brief moment of silence, then Nancy spoke up. “Who’s next?”

Rebecca looked around, then sighed. “I guess I’m left, aren’t I?” she thought for a few seconds, scratching her hair, that I noticed in the small amount of light from the fire that was now completely black. “Well…I can tie…well, this is embarrassing, but I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue, I still memorized my time tables from elementary school, and I took guitar lessons when I was 12.”

Sarah bit her lip, thinking, then nodded her head. “Well, the way you phrased the first part meant that it’s probably true, so I’m guessing…the third one?”

“Yes. It was piano. My mother forced me,” Rebecca smiled, though she was staring straight into the box at her feet. “I can still play it, though.”

Nancy giggled. “Maybe y’ and Sarah can duet!”

“If we find a piano, sure.” Rebecca softly said. She seemed…I dunno, depressed after she said those. Maybe she didn’t…well, I wouldn’t know. Fuck.

“Well, all that’s left is…” Gordon said, before getting cut off by the only person left.

“Actually, uh…” Weston said, his voice smooth, yet with a hint of mumbling. “I’ll go, of course, but…I’d like to ask you all a question…”

“Shoot.” I said. I was bouncing my knee, though I was being careful not to disturb the box of tres laches on my lap.

“Well…do any of you actually believe in the…in what Mr. Producer said?” Weston said, his voice kind of unsure. “That…that one of us is a murderer.”

Sarah shook her head, her frizzy hair swirling around. “Nope. Not a chance. Do you remember what Rebecca said? It’s just not possible. Nobody could get away with murder in this day and age.”

“Yes…” Weston said, still wary. “But, isn-“

“We’re teenagers, Weston!” Rebecca rebutted. “A teenager couldn’t kill someone and get away with it! It’s all some lie that the people behind this made up. Look…just…” She was getting really frustrated. Of course. “Well, uh, Caroline, what was the ‘secret’ you got?”

Caroline fidgeted in her seat. “I’d…I’d like to not say it. Fake or not, it has the possibility to truly hurt someone.”

“Why don’t we get back to the game?” Weston suggested.

“ **No**!” Rebecca immediately shouted back. She was definitely pissed, but she wasn’t screaming and threatening people with death like she used to. I guess that was good. “I am going to settle this nonsense once and for all. Gordon, could you share the ‘secret’ you received?”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “I got that _someone_ here beat up another kid in middle school so bad that they had to go under surgery to fix his nose.”

I tensed up without realizing it. Was that me? I didn’t know it was that bad. Was it that bad? I didn’t know what was worse – that I was actually put on the spot with a correct secret or that I couldn’t actually remember how badly I fucked that kid up. Should I confess? I scratched the back of my neck, not sure what to do. What would Russell think of me? Or Rebecca?

I relaxed a little bit. Dude, who cares what they think? They’re not going to beat you up over it. You can repair friendships, can’t you? You’re good at that.

“That…I did that,” I said. I looked around the fire. Some people were staring at me so fucking intensely. Some people were shrugging. What the fuck did I just do? Should I try to back it up? Why I did it? “He-he was making fun of my mom, and I-“

Rebecca was leaning forward, her hand on her temple. “I…” she sighed. I didn’t know what she was thinking.  

“Holy shit.” Russell said. His mouth was open wide. Everyone else was muttering stuff under their breath.

“No, look, it wasn’t that bad, alright?!” I yelled, trying to justify myself. “They lied about it! He didn’t have to do surgery! He-he just got a broken nose, alright! I think! I…shit.” I sighed, mostly out of anger, and held my head with my hands. The best thing that could happen is if I just had a heart attack or something right now.

“Christ, dude.” Edwin mumbled.

“I’m…I’m sorry, but…Jesus, I was in middle school! I was stupid! I mean…I thought I heard enough of this shit!” Every fucking time someone wanted to bring me down or make me seem terrible, they’d mention that fucking thing.

“Oh my **God**.” Sarah said, her voice a low grumble.

I could feel my body getting hot. Couldn’t people just leave me the fuck alone?! “Fuck! Just shu-“

“No! Listen. Everyone calm the fuck down.” Sarah did that ‘calm your tits’ motion where she put her hands parallel to eachother. I think that’s what that gesture ment, anyway. “Jack, shut up. Everyone else, shut up. Can’t we seriously have one night that doesn’t end in everyone fucking yelling at eachother?! Seriously, so what if Jack punched someone’s nose in in middle school? Yeah, it’s bad, it’s _really_ bad, but he was an idiot back then! We were all idiots! For fuck’s sake, there was a girl that made my life hell in middle school, and now she’s president of the student council! The only reason why they put that as Jack’s secret was so we’d all distrust Jack, and look at us now!”

I sat there for a moment. Everyone was either looking at Sarah or me. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just go to bed? That would mean admitting defeat. But I did want to go to bed.

“Should…should we continue with the game?” Weston asked, still innocent-sounding.

“I…” Russell looked away. I could tell he was trying to avoid eye contact with me. “I think it’s safe to call it a night.”

I sighed. God fucking dammit. Why couldn’t this night go good? It was going well up to…Rebecca.

I picked up my box of pastries and got up, turning my back on everyone, not caring about how the fire would get put our or anything. Silently, I walked out of the pool room, nobody walking near me, thank God, stomping up with my brow down low until I got to my room, and worked the I.D. mechanism so I could get inside.

I immediately collapsed on the bed, then I felt the zipper on my jacket digging into my skin so I threw that off, plus my jeans, then lied upright on the bed.

Fuck them. Why couldn’t they listen to Sarah? Why couldn’t they just accept me being an idiot when I was fucking _13_? Why did Rebecca have to pry at people, why did Weston have to bring it up in the first place?

Then, I realized that…that someone got my secret. That meant that most of them, or all of them, were true. That meant the murder one was true. At first I really wanted it to be a lie, but…fuck. Who knows? One of them probably is. But who?

I just wished to go to sleep, to get the past fifteen minutes away from my mind, but, of course, it didn’t come easily.

I had to do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, I'm not normally the one to brag about page hits, but we reached a very important milestone this past week: http://i.cubeupload.com/GdDtFt.png hell yeah B)  
> About this chapter: I'm not happy about the ending, but I was rushed for time, (finished this about an hour ago, and I didn't know when I would have to leave tonight.) I'm sorry if it seems a cheap way to exit - that's because it is. Feel free to yell at me about it! I deserve it. Also sorry about any typos you find-like I said, I'm leaving for the night fairly soon, so I didn't have any time to really edit it.  
> Free times coming up in about two chapters. Because I'd like to get a head start on them since I'm really behind, go ahead and do the regular thing - choose a character, ask a question you'd like Jack to ask that character. Top two characters with the highest (or only) votes will be posted first. Right now I only have...well, only one character's is at the 3 page mark, and I'd like to get inspiration for more.


	40. Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack tries to sleep.

I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to escape this fucking day.

Of course, nothing can come easy.

I tried that nose thing to help me sleep. Didn’t help a lot. I tried tensing up my muscles and relaxing them. Didn’t help either.

Some memory came back to me. I guess it was because my brain was trying to find something to help me in this not-very-dire situation. I dunno.

Freshman year at my high school. I’m in the regular English class – this was before the school heads decided to put me in a lower level of education to ‘help’ me. We’re reading this novel – we’ve been reading it all week. I really wasn’t understanding it. It was about this weird society where the government runs everything and the people are oppressed – not that good of a descriptor, I know, but most of the book just went over my head anyway. There’s a name for those types of novels, ‘Soapian’ or something. Maybe they’re called that because they’re overdramatic, like a soap opera? That’s probably wrong. Anyway, I tell my friend who’s in a grade above me, Alex, that I’m just not understanding it, so he lends me _another_ book, called “How to Survive Being in a” – dystopian, that’s it. “How to Survive Being in a Dystopian Novel.” It was a parody. I read it cover to cover, and it helped me a little bit. I probably remember more about it than the book we read as a class. There were a lot of different chapters. “Untangling your love triangle.” “Creating your team of teenage misfits.” “Discerning if you’re in a dystopia or a utopia, and how to revolt against both.” I hadn’t thought of that book all year, but now it was coming back to me. Funny how that works. Actually, it wasn’t funny, it was fucking aggravating – that shit would’ve come in handy during this week.

One of the chapters, I think, was what to do as you’re falling asleep. One of the suggestions was that, if you were old enough to remember life before the government took over, was to reminisce about your past memories in order to give the reader a sense of – what was it? Foreshortening? If you weren’t old enough, you were supposed to have oddly coherent dreams that could be easily recognized as relevant to your current situation, something like that. Wait, ‘foreshadowing’ was the word. Shit.

I had already had a coherent dream – though I guess I didn’t decide on that. And I really couldn’t remember a lot about it now –I was drowned by a person. That’s it.

I rolled over on my side, looking at my dorm – I guess I can call it mine now. I’ve lived in it for a week. I’ve been calling it mine all week. Why am I now realizing that?

Only one thing to do now.

I closed my eyes as tight as I could, trying to think of any good memories to ‘vividly re-live, in order to explain to your reader how your world ended up this way, and how the story will play out.’ Though, I won’t know how this story will play out. I guess I can just imagine when I was much happier, didn’t have this feeling of dread in my life.

Fuck it, I’m stalling. Let’s just get this over with.

My first Christmas – well, not my first. I was, what, five when this happened? I know I didn’t get much my first Christmas, what are you gonna get a less-than-four-months old kid that you’ve only known for one of those months? I guess what you normally get babies. The first Christmas that I can remember started with me waking up, running down the hallway of our house, and seeing a child-sized training bike leaning against the wall, near the artificial tree. It was black, with blue handlebars and stripes on the chassis, a metal bell mounted on the left bar, and blue-rimmed training wheels. I was so happy that I screamed. Thankfully, my mom had already woken up, and she screamed with me and hugged me. She wouldn’t let me get on it right then – it was still six A.M., and she didn’t want any of the neighbors waking up. She did let me open the rest of my presents – a few diecast metal toy cars and motorcycles, a LocoMolly train (I was into trains a little bit when I was a kid – which boy wasn’t?), a new comforter set, and around a pound of candy in my stocking. I can’t remember what my mom got from her friends. I played with my toys while watching stop-motion Christmas shows on the television while my mom did some work on her laptop (this was back when she worked at an office a few towns over, before she started the auto shop), playing with me afterwards, then I ‘helped’ her make the dinner we had that night – which I can’t remember, probably duck. The next day she started teaching me how to ride my bike. I guess that’s where you can say my career started.

“Hey, I’m Jack Guerrero. I’m thirteen. This is a Badlands custom skateboard, made in my home state of New Mexico, with extra-course tape, non-slip axels on the trucks, and 70mm wheels. We were cruising around the deserts of N.M. in this 1984 Carbine and we found a pretty nice ghost town to tear up.”

My first time at the Triple Gold Games was fantastic. I was only scheduled to compete in the Men’s Skatepark competetion, so I spent the rest of the trip watching the other events. At the end of my first time watching freestyle motocross, I clearly remember turning to my mom, who was just as amazed as I was, and saying ‘I want to do that.’ I met with some Mountain Energy spokesmen during, and even got to sit down with one of their higher ups, not that I could remember his name or his position. I got a bunch of free merch, too. Most of it I still own. I did pretty well in the competition. I don’t think I was the youngest there, so it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. I didn’t fall during any of my runs, I got the second-highest score, and I got a lot of attention. I mean, I didn’t get voted best in show or anything, but they liked me enough to bring me back next year.

I thought about re-living the night I first tried pain pills for fun, but then I remembered I was only trying to focus on _happy_ memories. None of the hallucinations I had that night were happy.

I didn’t know what else to do. I just wanted to sleep. What the fuck else was there to re-live? Fuck that book. Those tips you had were only useful if you had a completely happy life. Mine was…alright. I don’t think it was that great, though. Short bursts of happiness between long boring stretches.

I tried the nose thing for the second time. It kinda helped. I felt more…at ease.

My mind wandered to tomorrow. Would people apologize for treating me like that? Did I _deserve_ to be treated like that? I mean, I did beat up a kid. But I didn’t feel bad about it. But it was a bad thing to do. But he was being a dick. I was…I was just so confused.

I tried to close my eyes as tight as I could and not open them until I fell asleep. I felt my body growing heavier and my mind becoming less clear and more clouded. I could still smell burning wood, but that went away over time.

At that point, I think I fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the only reason why I started this chapter was because I thought it would be nice to have a Christmas or holiday scene, but given the nature of this story, I can't really do that. So I had to make do.   
> Much shorter chapter this time. I didn't want to have something ridiculous like eight or nine pages of Jack's memories after 10+ pages of exciting bonfire action.   
> I took a look at the calendar, and apparently Christmas falls on a Friday this year. Too be honest, I'm thinking of taking that week off, because I don't think anyone is going to be reading during that time, and I'll probably be busy with other stuff. Plus, that extra time would be nice to work on Free Times. Maybe I can upload a little page of Trivia about stuff, in case anyone actually cares, just so I can say I haven't missed a week without regular updates, but I think that would break the regular flow of the updates.


	41. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has a rude awakening. [FREE TIME VOTE]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important news in the end chapter notes, but the tl;dr of it is that I'm taking off next week because it's Christmas.

“Good mo-o-o-o-o…”

I was awoken by the sound of someone stuttering over the intercom, which quickly descended into static, then this weird screeching noise like the sounds of dial-up modems my mom would show me to say how the internet was back when she was a kid. It was fucking irritating, so I covered my ears until it stopped.

“Wel-y nam-AAAAA-ressional district num-A-un contro-A- **AAA** - **A** -A-A **A _A_** _A_ ** _A_** -AA-Ju- _AA_ -A- **AA** - **A** - _A_ - _A_ ** _A_ A**A.”

It definitely sounded like Mr. Producer, but it…didn’t. At the same time. It sounded more robotic. And it was incoherent as fuck.

Then, there was more screeching, another short burst of static, then silence.

What a fucking way to start the day.

I wasn’t sure if I should get up, and I think I stayed that way for more than a few minutes. People would probably just keep treating me like shit like they did last night. Maybe they would apologize? I dunno, I don’t think that would happen. I’m not sure.

If I got up, I risked the chance of being treated like fucking garbage. If I stayed in my room, I would be fucking bored all day. I could just avoid everyone all day?

What the fuck am I saying?! That’s the coward’s way out, isn’t it? Just man up, face everyone else.

I rocketed out of my bed, changed out of my old clothes and put on a new black t-shirt and my jacket, put my I.D. and my knife in my pocket, and went out.

The hallway was empty. I sighed. Maybe this was a good thing? I dunno. I walked to the doorway to the stairs, walked down those, and entered the T-hallway. Nobody there either. Maybe they were in the dining room? Probably.

I walked up to the door to the room. Should I open it? Why do I keep asking myself questions? Do it.

I walked in. People were talking, about what, I couldn’t tell, and nobody noticed, or, at least, pretended to notice me. In the middle of the table was the box of sweets that Rebecca had. I guess she wanted everyone to have some more. I sat down in my chair, and that’s when everyone stopped chattering.

Rebecca was the first to actually acknowledge me. She had on a red short-sleeved blouse and slacks. “So…Jack. We all agreed that we were sorry about how we treated you last night.”

“I…uh, thanks.” I smiled.

“I don’t, I mean, I don’t approve of what you did, but…yeah, I guess I can overlook it, given our circumstances and all, right?” Russell said. He was wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday morning, or at least something like it.

I nodded. Should I apologize? Was I a dick last night? “Uh…yeah, thanks, and I’m sorry if I was…for being an asshole last night, just walking out on you guys.”

“What exactly h-happened last night?” Franlkin asked. He was just wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and dress pants. “I’ve only been hearing little fragments.”

“Well, we had a fire, Rebecca handed out the snacks she won in the popularity contest, and then we played two truths and a lie.” Weston said, smiling. He noticeably didn’t answer what Franklin was really asking, and didn’t say why everyone was apologizing to me. Weston was wearing a grey suit vest, white undershirt, and grey pants. Not as flamboyant as usual, for some reason.

“That…it sounds nice…” Franklin mumbled.

Rebecca sighed. “You were welcome to come at any time.”

Franklin shook his head. “I ha-had more important matters…different things to do…”

J.J. sneered. “Like what? Ain’t a lot to do here.”

Franklin exhaled once, an attempt at a laugh. “You’ll see tonight…yo-you’ll all see…it’ll be…” his voice trailed off. It was kinda off-putting.

“Er…okay…” Gordon looked away. He was just wearing his usual blue shirt and jean shorts.

Franklin rolled his eyes.

“So, uh, did anyone else notice that noise today?” Edwin bit his lip. He still had on his black pajamas, hanging loose from his now-skeletal frame. “Really fuckin’ weird.”

“It sounded like an audio glitch at first. You know, I’ve experienced a fair amount of those, whenever I’m editing my music,” Sarah mentioned. “Then it went straight into nightmare territory, right? Maybe…I mean, maybe something went wrong with the mic he was using. Maybe something went wrong with whatever computer’s running the audio here. Maybe he’s running off of pre-recorded files and it fucked up.”

“I did notice some words in the cluster, though…” Caroline said, tapping her hand to her chin. She wore a black jacket buttoned up and another long black shirt. “Congressional District’ and ‘Gun Control’. They were easy enough to discern, but the rest was illegible.”

“So what do you suppose that means?” Rebecca was leaning forward, apparently invested.

Caroline sighed, and I half-expected her to shrug, but she was usually too proper for that. Instead, she pushed up her glasses. “I don’t know. If I’d wager a guess, it’d mean that whoever captured us and forced us into this mansion might have more political motivations than was first apparent.”

“That’s…it’s always been obvious. To m-me, at least…” Franklin coughed.

“Yes, well…I personally thought that this whole situation was just a pure terrorist scheme. Nothing beyond that…” Caroline fidgeted with her hands. “But this sheds a new light on it. I’d imagine this is a…well, it suggests that this is home-grown. It’s born out of dissatisfaction with our current political landscape, and a desire for revenge by striking those we hold most precious…well, that’s my view on it, at least.”

“Yeah, but if he wanted to do that, why not shoot up a daycare or something?” Edwin asked. People groaned.

“Too far.” Russell scowled.

“Well, that _is_ a good question, no matter how macabre it is…” Caroline started. I raised my hand, unsure about that word. “Yes, Jack?”

“What does that word mean? Mah-cab?”

Caroline thought for a moment, processing my request. “Er..it means ‘gruesome’, ‘horrific’, but anyway, why wouldn’t someone attack a children’s school in order to raise fear and strike us at our most vulnerable point? Well…my hypothesis is that the people struck this school in particular because, well, I’m sure all of you know that Columbia National Academy is ‘America’s School’. It’s as ubiquitous as…Jack, that word means ‘similar’ or ‘alike’, but it’s like Congress or the Senate in that regard. Even though it’s a fairly new institution, it’s just as famous. Kidnapping us and putting us through this torture is a hit right in America’s nationalism, more than enough retribution – ‘revenge’ – towards any perceived slight this person or persons may have had towards this great nation.”

Rebecca nodded and smiled. “That was wonderfully put together, Caroline.”

I shrugged. “So this is a dude who hates America so much that he goes through the trouble of kidnapping te-fifteen of the most important kids in the nation and brings them to wherever-the-fuck? Why not just kill us?”

“It would be more distressing to see them helpless. It’s doubly distressing to see them fight to the death.” Caroline folded her arms against each other.

“I still don’t understand a lot of it,” Russell sighed. “I mean, they showed us C.N.A.’s security when we did those tours, right? Why go through the trouble of circumnavigating that, then transporting us to wherever-in-the-world-we-actually- _are_ , risking detection all the way, then doing that weird signal-blocking stuff, also risking detection? The people running this…I mean, I dunno.”

J.J. scratched her head. She was wearing a plaid shirt, opened up a bit, and her hair was loose. “Not a lot of this makes any of sense…shame we couldn’t figure out something before…bad stuff started happenin’.”

Caroline sighed. “It was inevitable. We’re…well, human teenagers aren’t the stablest specimens around. For lack of a better word.”

Gordon shrugged, then crossed his arms. “I mean, we don’t really have that much to go on, do we? We have a weird shadow dude who might as well be a God-damned robot. No clues, no ideas about who coulda been behind this.”

“Oh…oh, no, no, no…” Franklin wringed his hands, kinda like an evil hunchbacked servant. “There have been clues, the-there’s been…there’s been clues as to who exactly is behind this. It all t-takes a mind who can see it all to understand it.”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, buddy.”

I leaned forward. “Yeah, bro, you’re starting to sound kinda creepy. Well, creepy-er.”

Franklin waved a hand away, like he was swatting away what I just said. “Oh, I’ve been t-told that before…I don’t mind it.”

“Franklin…” Rebecca began. Her arms were folded in front of her. “You’ve mentioned that you have a theory to present to us, don’t you?”

The director nodded quickly. Honestly, I had trouble thinking of him as a documentary filmmaker nowadays. He just seemed…weird. “Tonight. It’ll happen tonight.”

“Well, we’re, uh, we’re all eagerly awaiting it.” Rebecca said, her smile forced.

Franklin crossed his arms and looked away. I guess he saw through Rebecca’s false positivity.

Russell drummed his fingers. “So, uh, Franklin, how much time do you think you need to prepare?”

Franklin wringed his hands again, though he wasn’t looking at us. “An hour or t-two or three. Probably. I’d…I’d like some time to rehearse.”

Gordon nodded.  “That’s fair.”

“So, uh…” Sarah began. “Should we just call it here? Let everyone do what they want until Frank’s ready?”

Franklin winced. I guess he really didn’t like that name. I sighed. I honestly wanted to keep talking. I liked that.

“I’d…yes, I’d appreciate that.” Franklin said, then carefully got up and left, without saying another word. Kinda dickish of him.

“Well…uh,” Rebecca said, apparently annoyed at Franklin just up and leaving. “I guess we’ll come back here when Franklin says he’s ready.”

Nancy sighed. She had stayed silent for the entirety of the morning, for some reason. She had on her outfit from the first day, minus that somewhat-impressive strap of merit badges. “I guess.”

We all kinda just said goodbye and got up, and, thankfully, I was the first one to get out.

I looked around the T-hall, not sure where to go, what to do. I could…fuck, I dunno. I could just talk to some people. Why not do that? It passes the time, though if it went like last time…it might be weird, maybe bad. Fuck it, why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since next Friday is literally fucking Christmas, and since I don't think anyone values this story more than spending time with their families or loved one, there won't be any updates. Hope you guys enjoy your time away from me!  
> Free time votes! Normal stuff. Comment a character, then ask a question you'd like Jack to ask that character. Top two, or only two, characters will be posted.  
> One last thing - I re-read some of the earlier chapters out of boredom, and, wow, do they kinda suck. I'm gonna go back and edit my grammar mistakes and add more stuff when it's relevant, along with removing some bad things, sometime soon.


	42. Free Time: Caroline Fraiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which theories begin to form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of information down at the bottom of the chapter. I'd recommend going there straight off.

Caroline was still the smartest person here, no doubt. I always liked getting her opinion on stuff, and I guess it could help me with this feeling I’ve been having, that…that I really just couldn’t control my thinking nowadays.

I found the psychologist in the library, looking over a book, then writing something down on a small notepad. I entered silently, sitting on the opposite desk from her.

“So, Jack,” she began immediately, like we were already in the middle of the conversation. She didn’t look up from her pad, though. “Who exactly do you think is behind this plot?”

I shrugged, unsure why she was immediately talking to me. “I…uh, I dunno, but, uh, I think you did good explaining what you thought today, though.”

She nodded. “But who do you think is behind this? Think hard, now.”

I scratched my chin, sort of happy that it felt smooth. “I guess…I’d guess I’d have to do what you said. Home-grown terrorists.”

She stared at her pad of paper for a second. “It seems we’re on the same page.”

“I mean…yeah, it’s really the only good option.”

“And why is that?”

I sighed, not sure how to answer, exactly. “I mean…I don’t think some sort of, like, foreign terrorists could do something like this, right? They…th-they don’t really seem capable of it.”

“But does a domestic terrorist?”

“What do you mean?”

She finally looked up at me, twirling a fancy-looking pen in her fingers. “Look around us. Look at the light machine guns hanging from the ceiling,” she said, pointing to the huge, black, angular gun, it's barrel menacing, and the bullets in the belt of ammunition terrifyingly sharp. in the corner of the room. “Those cost thousands of dollars apiece, on top of being illegal for civilian use, and there are a dozen of them at least. Do you think a domestic terrorist could scrounge up enough money to purchase those, not find himself as the subject of a government probe due to what he purchased and the amount of them, convert them to stationary turrets, and find a way to remotely control them?”

I sat there, listening to what she was saying, not sure what to make of it.

“And what of this mansion? I’ve already discerned that it wasn’t built for this purpose, though it was extensively modified with the addition of the elevator, the courtroom or wherever you want to call where we those trials, plus an indeterminately large concrete room to stage those dreadful executions, which we’ve already seen to require at least a tree prop and a large lead box. There’s also the fact that the people in charge of this don’t have any way of estimating who will be a killer and who won’t, so they’d at least have to make a fitting execution and the necessary equipment for every person here, even me and you. May I remind you that the Columbia National Academy Program was only announced six years ago, counting the time it took to construct the campus? There’s no way one person could do all of this by themselves. It’d take a crew of dozens, perhaps more than one hundred.

“And I won’t neglect to mention that animatronic ‘Mr. Producer’ character. There’s no way a lone person could construct a puppet that smooth-looking, however rigid its motions are. It’s certainly not the quality of those Florida and California theme parks, but it’s still impressive to construct. That means there’s multiple electricians, contractors, video editors, gun enthusiasts, hackers, and _now_ someone who’s capable of building an animatronics, all in one terrorist cell.”

“Wow,” I had never thought of any of that stuff, to be honest. “How did you know all of that?”

“Would you like to see my notes?” she asked, holding up the notepad and handing it to me.

I took it from her, scanning it. The handwriting was…terrible. Chickenscratch. Seriously? I thought it would’ve been cursive or something. I tried reading it, but the a’s looked like o’s and the l’s and capital I’s looked too similar, along with it just being hard to look at.

“I’m…sorry for the shoddy state of my writing. I never really did basic writing skills in school.”

“Why’s that?” I said, handing it back to her.

“I was homeschooled by my aunt for my formative years, up to fourth grade. She was very…well, she was obscenely religious, really. We spent more time on Biblical and Mormon stories than basic arithmetic or cursive.”

“That sucks.”

“Well…I didn’t mind it. I find religion enjoyable to study. I do regret not being able to learn those skills before I was thrust into a prestigious private school, but, personally, I do not entirely regret the whole experience.”

I nodded.

“Do you believe in God, Jack?” she asked, kinda out of the fucking blue.

“I…I, uh…” shit, I had no idea what to say. “I mean, my mom always said she had bad experiences with it, something to do with her parents, but she didn’t, like, tell me about them. So we’ve never done any church stuff or anything.”

“I’m…well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she turned back to twisting the pen in her fingers. “I’ve always held nothing but disdain for people who pervert their religious beliefs for their own political purposes.”

I sighed. “What does ‘disdain’ mean?”

“It means ‘dislike’.”

I nodded, and I could feel the conversation starting to die the moment those words passed her lips. “What’s that book, anyway?” I asked.

She lifted up the book, showing the front cover. It was plain grey, with silver lettering in the middle – ‘The American Journal – Century Collection, 2000 – 2010.’ “I’ve been scanning all of their articles about domestic terrorism, something about any sort of group that could perpetrate this crime, but I haven’t been found much, yet,” she said, then set the book back down, mumbling “That may be because I’m only at March of 2000…”

“You got farther than I would’ve.”

She nodded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I know you’ve said in your past interviews you were placed in ‘lower’ classes…do you really view yourself as unintelligent?”

I quietly exhaled, then leaned back in the chair. “I guess.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but judging by what you commented just now, I assume you’re the kind of person to constantly undermine your intelligence. Is this true?”

“I’m just not that smart.” I said. It was true.

“You seem knowledgeable about skateboarding, and cars, and motorcycles. You’re apparently quite adept at investigating violence. Not being intelligent in regards to your school’s curriculum doesn’t mean you’re wholly unintelligent.”

I sighed. Was I really good at solving those…the murders? Why? “I guess you're right. I wish my school offered stuff in murder-solving. Maybe then I’d get a B in something.”

She paused, still twisting the pen in her hand. “Have you considered a technical college?”

“What, for being a mechanic? Yeah. I already know half of the stuff to do already. But I wanted to see where my career’s going, first.”

“Well, surely you can’t keep skating and motocrossing forever, can you?”

“I...I mean, Davis Bellacourt’s in his late forties, and he’s still skating. And he’s pretty good.”

She nodded. “Do you ever wonder about what you’d do…what would happen if you suffered a career-ending injury?”

“I mean, I’m still gonna go to a four-year school after…if I go to Columbia National. So if I do, like, break an arm or something, I’m just gonna go work with my mom,” I said, and the idea of not being able to do what I love anymore did kind of make me depressed. “What about you, huh? What are your plans?”

She put down the pen. “I already have several scholarship offers, the amount which will surely increase after my time at Columbia National Academy. I’m sure one of them will suffice. I’m more interested in learning than what comes thereafter.”

I nodded.

The conversation stopped for a few dozen seconds, then Caroline uncapped the pen and looked at the pad, writing down a few things.

“Uh, are we done here?” I said, maybe a bit offensed.

She nodded. “I suppose we are.”

“Well, then, uh, see you later?” I got up, though part of me wished she would tell me to sit back down again. She didn’t.

“It was a pleasure, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Back on this. A some stuff happened in the past two weeks, so let me go over them really quick:  
> -Laptop broke on Christmas Day. Currently on my desktop. Thank God for external hard drives!  
> -Got a drawing tablet for Christmas.   
> -Downloaded a synthesizer tutorial program that I've yet to do (waiting until I get back on my laptop).  
> -St. Louis and southern IL got hit with historic rain and flooding. My family managed to remain unscathed, but the damage for others is still unbelievable. I've seen some of the damage first-hand, and it's horrible. I highly recommend donating to the Red Cross at http://rdcrss.org/1mq6o2P , or through local station KMOV http://www.kmov.com/story/30856142/kmov-cares-make-a-donation-to-assist-flood-victims
> 
> Since I did get a drawing tablet and something that would teach me how to create music, I was thinking of setting up a tumblr or some sort of a blog. I'll probably do it once my computer is fixed. Then again, I'm probably overstating my modicum of popularity, since I doubt a lot of people from here would follow it. I'll think about it.
> 
> Not a lot else to say. Pretty straight-forward Free Time. I recommend listening to jazz while you're reading it. Oh, also, if these Free Times seem longer than last time, that's because they are. I upped the page goal to three, plus I removed the spaces after a line, so I could see how long they would be on pastebin. So they're a lot longer, and more in-line with a regular chapter rather than the little footnotes I had previously.


	43. Free Time:  Rebecca Penn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack and Rebecca talk about what they see at night.

eRebecca was doing…better, I guessed. She wasn’t, like, exploding at everyone nowadays. She seemed…calmer.. Though she was still pissed off all the time.

I found her in the game room, laying down on the couch, only lit by the neon signs on the walls. She apparently heard me enter, and I saw her now black hair come up, her eyes turning a bit towards me, and her head kinda shrink back, like she was sighing. “Hello, Jack.”

“Hey.” I walked over to the couch, and she scooted to the right, patting the cushion next to her, so I sat on it, stretching my legs onto the coffee table, stretching out my arms along the back side of the couch, basically making myself comfortable. She was just sitting with her legs crossed on the couch, and her arms in the little space between her pelvis and her feet.

“What brings you here?” she asked me, not looking at me, for some reason.

I shrugged. “I dunno. Wanted to see you.”

She made a sad-looking face. “That would be a first.”

That was…kind of sad. “Well…let’s make it one.”

She nodded.

“So, what’s up?” I leaned back into the couch.

She looked down. “I…I couldn’t tell you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, well, it’s nothing. I just still don’t know what’s going on…let’s hope Franklin can explain it. Though I don’t have my hopes up.”

I nodded.

There was a short pause, then she asked something. “What’s on your mind?”

I…I don’t know, actually. “I’m just…I’m fine. I think. I feel like…I’m fine.”

“It sounds like you’re skating around the question.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

“Well, it’s more like your pirouetting around it, but…it’s fine.”

 I…didn’t know exactly what she was talking about.

The conversation stopped again. I didn’t know what to ask her, of if she would ask me something, or…fuck. What to do? I don’t know what to say…what’s a good, generic question? She seemed very…I dunno. “Can I ask you something?” I said, not realizing that I said it, and it kinda just slipped out.

She looked at me. “What?”

I…shit, I was in a tight spot. “What…what are your dreams? Like…uh…”

She paused, and then looked into the darkness, though I couldn’t see where. “That’s an odd question.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know why I asked it.”

“That’s an even odder answer…” she paused, then there was the sound of someone messing with their hands.                 Maybe she was doing that thing where you twirl your thumbs around? “I…honestly, I don’t have a lot of dreams. Not in the mental sense or in the goal sense. I’m…I feel that I live in the moment. I don’t really look to the future.”

I nodded. “I’m the same way, I think. I mean, I don’t, like, have any specific goals, right? I just like where I am and I wanna stay that way.”

“That’s fairly reasonable.”

 I looked towards her, barely making out her face in the blackness. “So you really don’t have any dreams?”

She sighed. “I…yes, I suppose I do. I sometimes have dreams about running from clowns…”

“You’re afraid of clowns?”

“Well, uh…it’s a bit embarrassing, but yes. I watched that one movie one too many times when I was a kid. You know the one, right?”

I shook my head, then, realizing she probably didn’t see it, said “No.”

“Oh, uh…God, I hate saying this name, but it was called ‘Killer Klownz Kill Kidz’ or something along those lines. Horrible movie. I watched it when I was young.”

“That makes sense.”

She did more of that finger-turning thing. “Anyway, as far as goals go…like I said, I don’t have a lot of them. None of them are easily attainable, anyway. I’d like to see the poverty level of the United States drop significantly less than it is currently, but…there’s not a lot I can do to help other than pumping money into our infrastructure, and, well, I just don’t have enough money to do it. The most I can do is support homeless shelters or free meal programs for impoverished students.”

“I didn’t know you did all that.”

“Oh, most of its donating to worthy causes. Every once in a while, I’m able to actually travel to these associations and work with them directly, sometimes work in the kitchens or the shelters themselves. I make whole vacations out of them. While my mother’s off having fun in the location, I’m often donating my time to charitable foundations or businesses.”

“So…like, do you have any time to yourself?”

She sighed, but not in a sad way. It sounded more happy than sad. “Not really, but I don’t regret it. I find what I do to be more rewarding than other things I devote my time to. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

I nodded, still not sure if she could see it. “Yeah, I don’t see myself just doing regular vacation-y stuff. I like riding around, looking at scenery, sometimes jumping off of stuff. I don’t like museums or tours or whatever.”

“What I meant was if you thought what you devoted your time to was more rewarding than what you could be doing.”

“Oh, uh…yeah. I mean…” how the hell did I want to phrase this? Fuck it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

My eyes had gotten used to the darkness, so I was able to see her shift her posture and turn towards me. “What about you? Do you have any dreams?”

“Which kind?”

“Let’s start with your sleep dreams.”

I sighed. “There was the one I had here, where I…I drowned, then there was one I kinda had where I had my phone here…”

“Isn’t it amazing? Just by removing a simple piece of technology from our lives, they…it makes us feel more vulnerable.”

“I guess.”

“What else? What are your goals?”  
I leaned back into the couch. “Nothing much.”

“Can I ask you a possibly personal question?”

I nodded.

“Do you ever dream of going to see your birth parents?”

Fucking hell. I **hated** this question. It’s not like the fucking movies, where your parents were abusive or did drugs until you were whisked the hell away to a nice loving family.”No. I don’t know them, I don’t care about it.” I couldn’t keep my voice from getting harsh, but, fuck, I don’t’ care, and I ended up exhaling a “Christ.”

She paused. “Did I hit a bad note with you?”

“Yeah.” I could feel myself sinking into the couch more.

“Do you…want to stop talking for now?”

“What? No, no, I’m good.”

“I…I think the damage is done.” She leaned forward, looking down at the floor.

“It…fine, whatever.” I got up and turned around.

“Are you leaving?” She asked, somewhat surprised.

“I guess.”

“Then I guess I can’t stop you.”

I sighed. “Maybe. See you.”

I heard her sigh too, then I left for the door. She didn’t stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, this got uploaded way late. I got busy re-watching Blade Runner and working on some role-playing game stuff. I'm uploading this right away, so I probably won't be editing this a whole heck of a lot. Oh well.  
> Not to happy about the ending of this. Oh well. I'm actually having a bit of trouble ending some of these Free Times in a good, non-abrubt way. I guess it's a learning experience.


	44. Roast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new problem is introduced, and a new solution is created.

I had left the game room, still somewhat angry about what Rebecca just said. I mean, she didn’t mean to make me angry, but…she did. Fuck. Am I too sensitive about that kind of stuff? Whatever. I should probably apologize for just shutting down.

I didn’t know who else to talk to. Caroline and Rebecca were just, like, the ones I thought would have the best grip on the situation, but neither one knew  what to do. Who else? Maybe Gordon? Where was he?

I began looking around for the surgeon, since he was really the only other person I could think of. He wasn’t in the clinic room or whatever, like I thought he would be, and he wasn’t in the pool. I started thinking of where else he would be, the intercom started static-ing it up again, and I braced myself for more terrible noises, but, instead, there was this…sound of thumping, then a new voice.

“Hello, my little starlets!” It sounded like…someone who _sounded_ like Mr. Producer, but it was more human. Less robotic. Maybe it was someone who was doing a weird impression of Mr. Producer? That means he’s not the only one, then. There are more people, like Caroline said. Shit. “How about all of you mosey on down to the theater, huh? I have a brand-new message for all of you. And, uh, in case any of you want to skip this one, may I remind you of the machine guns?”

Fuck, what now? There was no point in skipping it – whoever it was behind that voice made it clear. I really had no choice but to go to that fucking theater.

So I made my way towards the gold door in the T hallway, mumbling all the while. I wasn’t the first one there – Edwin was leaning against the wall, not looking at me, not that I expected him to. I stood there for a few seconds, not sure what to do other than wait, turned my head, and saw Nancy and Sarah slowly walking towards the theater, obviously not happy with what was going to happen. Russell came out of the door to the pool wing after them, with his shirt hastily thrown on, and washing his head with a towel. Slowly, more people were coming out of the doors, sighing, grumbling, with crossed arms and frowns.

“I can’t _believe_ we have to do this again…” Rebecca said through grit teeth. “Can’t he just leave us alone? We’ve already gone through enough.”

Gordon shook his head. “He doesn’t know pity, or remorse, or anything. He just wants us dead.”

“This is going to keep happening every few days until we’re down to nobody.” Edwin mumbled.

Russell shook his head, towel hung around his neck. “Or, he can do these all he wants, and we’ll be strong enough to keep calm and sane.”

Sarah nodded, her arms still crossed over her chest. “What have they done so far? Secrets that anyone could’ve gotten if they looked hard enough into our lives? And one fake secret about someone being a murderer?”

“That still caused Dianna to kill Samson.” Edwin said, still mumbling.

“Look, we-“ Russell started, before he was cut off by more static.

“Alright, is everyone here? Excellent!” the not-Mr. Producer voice said. “Excellent! I’ll open the door.”

The door unfastened, then swung open fast. Thankfully, nobody was in the way.

The light from the hallway bled into the darkness inside the room, though it didn’t reveal much.

“Well, we can go inside or get shot up.” I said, taking the first step towards the door.

J.J. sighed, then walked inside. “Ain’t exactly a fair choice, is it?”

There was a feeling in the air of fear, maybe sadness, though it was probably just me, then we all kind of filed into the theater, bumping up against each other, and walking on the concrete floor that lead to our new torment.

The theater didn’t change at all – a spotlight shining on fifteen red chairs in a slight semicircle around the lit stage. I could see the clamps hiding under the arms of the chairs, the metal shining brightly. I remembered where I sat the last time, walked away from the swarm, around the semicircle, and sat down, reclining like it was no big deal. Other people followed until everyone was in what I assumed was their seats.

“Alright, everyone’s here…uh, I’ll start it now.” For some reason, the voice now sounded…unsure. Nervous. Huh. The lights in the theater dimmed, and there was the noise and the cold metal feeling of the clamps coming up.

“Seriously, that does _not_ sound like Mr. Producer. What gives?”  Sarah mumbled.

Russell exhaled. “Like we should care.”

The lights came on again, showing Mr. Producer, black form, sitting in his director’s chair.

“Hello again, friends!” His head moved up, though no other part of his body moved. “Now, f-first off, I’d like to, uh, say, don’t do what you did last night again. Light a fire. I-I mean, it was a great scene, don’t get me wrong, and the people at home loved it, but, uh, not a lot of this place is fireproof. Good on you for choosing the wettest place in the mansion, though.”

The animatronic (I think) noisily and awkwardly got up, before standing still, with only his/it’s arm moving. “However, you guys gave u-me an excellent idea. I, uh, you see…how should I put this…well, I decided that since you guys like the heat so much, we should make it mansion-wide!” There was this weird…organic sound, like the voice did a tiny cough, then it continued. “You see, I keep this mansion at exactly 68 degrees Fahrenheit, just so y’all can be comfortable. So, I decided that since y-you guys like the heat so much, uh, let’s turn it up! I’m gonna shut off the air conditioning, and every two hours, I’ll turn up the heat by a degree. It’s gonna get real hot, real fast.

“Now, I know some of your guy’s clothes are normally, uh, s-slutty, so you won’t have a lot of trouble adapting, but for those of you that like to dress c-conser-conservatively, well, er, good luck! Uh…that’s all. Oh! Oh! Uh, once one of you dies, we, uh, I’ll turn on the A.C. and turn down the temperature to 68. Uh, yeah, that’s all. See you later…” The light shut off, and after a few seconds, the clamps went back into the chairs. I immediately felt where they were holding down my wrists, since they still felt cold and like something was over them.

“The hell was that about ‘normally slutty’?!” J.J. snapped, immediately standing up.

“You’re taking it too personally…” Franklin muttered.

J.J. crossed her arms. “But, I mean, ain’t that sexual harassment? I don’t dress ‘slutty’.”

“You _could_ afford to button up…” Rebecca mumbled. Thankfully, I don’t think J.J. heard her.

“It isn’t harassment unless he’s targeting you specifically,” Russell said, standing up fully. “As far as we know, he could’ve been talking about me…I mean, I’m aware of my dressing habits.” He rolled his eyes.

“Guys, come on, let’s argue about who dresses cuter later, we have to…do something! Think of a plan to keep us from boiling to death!” Gordon shot up, crossed his arms, and faced us. He was…surprisingly angry. “Look, we only have a few days before the temperature gets to be literally unfit for human life. Remember what…what happened to Dianna? It’ll happen to us, but a lot slower,” he looked down, then put a hand to his temple. “I mean, I don’t want to say it, but…this is dangerous. One of us is has…one of us is going to die. Maybe more. We have to figure out _something_.” There was no hint of humor or anything in this voice or his face. He was absolutely serious.

I…shit, was he…right? It was…fuck. He was _right_.

Caroline was looking downwards, not eyeing any of us. “I suggest we should talk about it in the dining room. I…I don’t want to be in this theater longer than I have to.” In the white light of the spotlight, I could see her tugging at her color, like she was already heating up.

I nodded, though I don’t think anyone saw, not that I wanted them to, and I stood up, with everyone else who was still sitting following suit. We kinda stood away from each other for a second, and then muttered to each other about whatever as we walked towards the dining room.

* * *

 

We sat in our normal places, though a few people decided to stand for whatever reason. I guess some were getting tired of the routine.

“You’re…you’re not serious, are you?” Nancy asked, her face toward Gordon. “About the…that we’ll…”

Gordon sighed, looking at the table. “I…I’ve done the math. We have some time to fix it, but not long. I’ve gone through the math in my head, I’m not sure if it’s right. It’s around 1 p.m. right now, and by 1 p.m. tomorrow it’ll be 80 degrees. In two days it’ll be 92, and the day after it’ll be 104, then 116, then **_128_** and…I mean, our proteins start dying at 105 degrees Fahrenheit, but we can theoretically survive as long as we get enough hydration until we get to 120-plus. So we have five days until…” he sighed. “And I’m not sure about the water, either. We have bottled stuff in the storeroom, but at a certain temperature, I don’t know what, the plastic will warp and the water will get way too warm to consume. But, I mean, maybe it’ll happen later in the increase…I don’t know, I just…” he put a hand to his forehead, again, and I could tell he was getting more agitated with himself. “There’s also the tap water, and that’s, I mean, I don’t know plumbing, but I don’t think that’s in a separate storage thing or what, but it might be still safe…”

“W-we could start putting bottles of water in the fridge, or in the freezer or something, right?” J.J. said. Her accent was unsteady.

“That’s..yeah, that might work, but, I…shit, I wish Malcolm…” Gordon sighed. “He’d know about how well electronics would work under extreme heat...”

“Gordon, you’re overthinking,” Caroline said, reassuringly. “Technology is built to last. I don’t think an increase in temperature would affect how it would work.”

“I’m…I…sorry.” Gordon stuttered out.

Russell smiled, and he looked totally unstressed. “Look, we can survive this. We have a pool. If things get to hot…”

Sarah put her hand to her face, doing that gesture that people surrounded by idiots did, which I kind of took offense at. “The water would be boiling.”

“It might not be. You have to have a modicum of hope.” Russell responded back, calmly.

“What does…” I started, since I didn’t know what ‘modicum’ was, then realizing that I was probably making myself seem stupid, I shook my head. “No, forget it.”

“Well…I had a little bit of a theory…” Weston started. He had a theory? “I’ve been thinking about our captor and what kind of person he is, and I thought about this ever since he announced the heat increase. This ‘Mr. Producer’ character…he is certainly interested in getting the best possible shots and scenes of us. He’s more like a director than a producer. And…well, I believe to know what was in Nancy’s letter after she won that contest, though I won’t say out of respect, and I certainly know what was in mine, and he’s aware that…well…” he bit his lip, and stretched his hands. It was probably the most nervous I’ve seen him. “In any case, it’s possible that the pool or the pool room will stay air conditioned. He might want us to use it to get footage of us in it, playing around, and being friendly to one another.”

“Why?” Sarah scratched the back of her neck. “If he did that, then wouldn’t we just start hanging out there forever?”

“Well, there has to be some limit, but it’s likely. It seems like the kind of thing that would get more ratings.” Weston…it seemed like he was actually being smart. That was weird.

“How did you…like, actually realize that?” I asked.

Weston bit his lip again. “Er…forgive me if I’m being ‘raunchy’, but there’s a reason there was a big boom in teen beach party movies in the Sixties. It’s…it’s pleasing to some people. Girls and boys in little swimsuits, bouncing around, getting wet…”

“He’s right…” Franklin said, though he didn’t look at anyone. “I-it was a genre in itself. It…well, it ranged fr-from coming-of-age adventures musi-musicals to softcore p-porn.”

“That’s…” Nancy made one of those awkward-situation faces. “I don’t wanna d’ that when you put it like that…”

“Yeah, that’s really gross!” Sarah said. “I’m not doing that. I don’t want to be some pervert’s spank material!”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.” Weston said, trying to be reassuring, since he really didn’t need to do, since his voice was already naturally calming. Guess that’s why he got famous. “I’m just speaking as someone who’s been in film before and had to deal with directors. It’s likely that the pool room will stay hot, but…we can keep it in back of our heads.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Russell shrugged. “We can wait until it’s too unbearable, then we go to the pool and try it out. If it isn’t, we’ll just do something else.”

Sarah kept pouting, not that I blamed her. “I’m not gonna get in a bikini and get in a pool as long as there’s a camera there.”

Weston sighed. “I feel the same way, but…it might be our best option to keep our body temperature normal. If it does work, then…well, he might release those recording Drones…”

“So he can get shots of my cleavage or something? No fucking way.” Sarah shook her head sort of angrily, then started speaking through teeth held tightly together. “I’m not even 18! I’m not gonna be someone’s fucking porn!”

Weston messed with his thumbs for a bit. “It’s your choice...”

J.J. shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I-I mean…they showed Dianna and Sophia getting killed on live T.V. Us gettin’ in bathin’ suits isn’t as bad.”

Sarah grumbled something.

“Well, I don’t think we could let you and Nancy fry…” Weston said, tapping his chin. “What about taking cold showers periodically?”

Gordon shook his head. “It’s unadviseable. I mean, you can do it for the next two days, but you’d be awake for almost all of it, and I don’t want anyone here to suffer from sleep deprivation. Once it gets hotter, though, there’s a ton of bad shit that could happen to you. Dries your skin and your eyes, your vision would get fucked up from pupil dilation, you’d get muscle spasm and cramps, breathing problems, the shock could even cause cardiac arrest. Basically, don’t do it.”

“Okay, so we’re fucked unless we want to…fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ” Sarah held her face in her hands.

“It’s fine, Sarah! We’ll have to think of ways to…we have to think of a way to keep ourselves cool,” Rebecca walked around a little bit, and glanced at the fake fire. “Like Mr. Producer said, we can dress…well, I mean, we can dress like its summer. I have a few light pieces of clothing…”

Edwin scoffed. “I’m surprised. I thought you only wore sweaters.”

Rebecca shot daggers at Edwin. “Not all the time. I’m from Texas. I do prefer us more formal pieces of clothing, but, well, even I own a few pair of shorts and short-sleeved polos and t-shirts…not that I brought a lot of them along. I’m sure we all have some with us, and if not, there’s always the clothing room or whatever it is. And, when it gets even hotter…well, there still is that rule in effect. No lewdness. We can’t show up in boxers and bras, but I did find exactly one sewing kit in the storeroom for alterations, and there’s no telling what we find in that clothes room.”

“All excellent points.” Weston said to Rebecca.

Franklin was scratching his wrist, which was kind of a distraction. “It’s…it’ll still be hard. It’d be better if…nevermind.”

“What was that?” I leaned forward, not sure if he was going to suggest something helpful or if we should kill of someone on our own.

“Nothing, n-nothing, nothing…” He gave me a trembling smile.

I sighed and shook my head.

“Well, what now? I think we’ve got a good survival plan…” J.J. shrugged, then leaning back in her chair, hands behind her head.

“We still have a lot to do…I just don’t know what it is…” Gordon said, crossing his arms and looking down.

“Let’s start by what we know what to do. Get some water bottles and make some space in the freezer.” Rebecca told everyone kind of bossily, hands on her hips.

I shrugged, and got up. I guess I was used to how she treated everyone. Some people weren’t.

“Could you be a little bit nicer?” Sarah shot back, her tone of voice a bit sarcastic, though I didn’t see why.

Rebecca sighed, and shook her head. “Listen, we have better things to worry about than how I treat you…you all.”

Sarah grumbled, crossing her arms. “You were gonna say something else, weren’t you?”

“I’ll have time to argue with you about my tone later, _okay_?” Rebecca said, through grit teeth.

Sarah rolled her eyes, turning towards the door. “Whatever.”

“So, well, er…” Franklin began, his voice sounding like a diesel motor beginning to start up. “I, uh, I do have my hy-hypothesis to present…if an-any of you would be interested in hearing it, I could d-do it later today…”

“That’d be a good distraction…” J.J. did a kind-of-shrug, which was mainly because her arms were still behind her head.

“It’s not a distraction!” Franklin said, his speech suddenly clear. “It’s a genuine theory that I’ve been working on for a while, and I have the notes and the work to show it!”

“I would be looking forward to that…” Rebecca said, tapping her chin. “Let’s do it an about an hour. Maybe two”

Franklin stood up. “Fine.”

Gordon tapped his I.D. screen. “Well, we have a while to stock water bottles and to…I dunno. Do whatever you think would help us.”

An hour to myself before I have to listen to some crackpot theory by a guy who can’t even speak in a straight line. I don’t know if that metaphor worked, but whatever. What to do? I could help with the water bottles, but I don’t know how many people would be on it. Would I even be helping? Fuck, I don’t know. I could just…walk around. I’ll see if they needed help first, of course. I don’t know.

I leaned back in the chair as people buzzed and moved around me. I’ll just see how this hour plays out. Not doing much has helped me so far. I think. Have I been doing much? Fuck it. Let’s just wait it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I bet after reading that, you're either thinking "Oh boy! Fanservice!" or "Oh no! Fanservice!" I just want to say - I don't like fanservice. At all. Viewing it makes me feel uncomfortable, and I'm not even going to attempt writing it. I mean, if you count noting that people are wearing less clothing as fanservice, then yeah, I guess I'll have some. But I'm not going to go into specific detail about a character's breasts or pecs or sweat. I want this fic to be accessible to everyone, and I'm sure that there's people like me who don't like viewing or reading that sort of stuff. If you're disappointed about that - well, pretty much every other part of the Archive has smut and detailed analysis of a character's sexual organs. And they're probably all written better than this fic!  
> One other thing - I've been going back to the first few chapters and editing some stuff on my phone whenever I've had free time on the weekends. I've changed quite a bit of stuff, mostly typos and grammar mistakes, but I've also added some big stuff. I'm only finished up to Chapter 2 (the first part of We Are Live), so you can go back and read those if you'd like or you can read what I've majorly changed in this handy changelog on Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/2FCYEi7U


	45. An Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack tries to do as little as possible and mostly succeeds.

I’m not going to lie, I could already feel it getting hotter, and it’s only been a few minutes. Am I actually getting hot, or is it stress? Fuck. I didn’t know what to do, but I didn’t want to sit in this chair in the dining room and get hotter. I got up, did that thing that people in cartoons do when it’s hot, where they pull away their shirt collars to try to get the air into their chest or whatever, but it didn’t work so well because my jacket was tight against my neck. Should I keep this jacket on? I don’t know. I went to the door, not really caring that everyone else was out. I guess I seemed like a dick by not immediately getting up. Whatever.

Gordon and Caroline were in the hallway, talking about something. I didn’t want to come into their conversation, so I left them alone. What could I do to help? Not much. The only thing we really could do was that water bottle thing, and I guess there were already people on that.

Fuck, what could I do? I wandered over to the doorway to the left hallway, not really sure what I could do, exactly. The left wing was really the only place that probably was empty. It’s been empty the past few days. Or few dozen hours. How long has it been since we’ve even gotten that wing? It feels like a week since it was unlocked, but we’ve only been in here a little more than a week. I guess not seeing the sun for that long does that.

The only person in the right wing was J.J., sitting on the floor, back to the wall, and Russell, standing to her right. They looked like they were talking. Should I talk to them? I mean, I don’t want to be a dick. Oh well. I exited through the door, almost as quickly as I came in.

Where else? The art room? That’s nice and quiet. Fuck, why not?

The short walk to the gallery or whatever was fairly uneventful. Not a lot of people. It was kind of depressing – the mansion just felt…empty. And I didn’t want to remember why.

Nobody else was in the room. I didn’t know if I wanted that or not. II was so fucking bored. I was a little bit scared. I was kind of hot. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just take a nap here? I’d rather do it in my room, but if I did it there, I’d probably miss Franklin’s little speech. If I did it out here, people could just wake me up. But they could also stab me in the throat with a knife. Once again, it was either do something nice and die or just wait it the fuck out.

So I sat there, against the wall. And waited. I didn’t know how long I waited. I thought about my mom. What she was doing right now. I don’t think she’s gotten over me being fucking kidnapped yet. Not that it’d be easy to. I don’t even want to know about her reaction to Malcolm or Samson or Dianna or Sophia. She’s always been a bit…interested in death. Like, every time a raccoon corpse would show up in our back yard, she’d just watch it decompose every once in a while instead of disposing it. She’d tell me about all the accidents she saw on the side of the road. But…these were more than nameless animals and people she didn’t know and would probably survive after a trip to the hospital. These were…they were people I knew. People I considered my friends, and…did I consider Sophia my friend? I didn’t talk to her a lot, and…what am I saying? Why am I trying to…what am I trying to do? Am I trying to, like, say she wasn’t my friend because she was a psycho? What about Dianna? She was crazy, but she was nice to

The door opened, and Weston walked in. He jumped a little bit when he looked at me, like he wasn’t expecting it. I guess that’s what I thought would happen. “Hello, Jack.”

I waved. “Hey.”

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, walking over to me and putting his arms behind his back.

I shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Oh, you have to have some idea, don’t you?” he smiled. “This isn’t a normal place to be, you know.”

“Then why are you here?” I shot back.

He giggled. “Well, I guess it’s because I’m…I’m not normal.”

I sighed. “I just wanted to come here to clear my head.” I lied. The room didn’t help one bit.

He nodded. “Well, I came here to just come here. I’ve never really seen this room before.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not a lot to see.”

“Oh, it’s interesting from an art perspective.” Weston walked over to a painting on the wall – a picture with Jesus in it or something. “Hm. It’s a good painting, but I was never one for religion.”

“Why not?”

He looked at me. “I’m not sure. I just didn’t get a chance to really commit to it.”

“Did you dad not like it?”

“No, he didn’t seem to dislike it or have any sort of aversion to it. He just…well, he just was never interested in it.”

“Yeah…my mom just didn’t like it at all. I mean, I remember asking my mom when I was still in grade school if we were Catholic or Mormon or whatever – most of the kids in my school were Catholic, and she told me to never ask me that again in this…this really angry voice. She never talked to me like that again.”

He sighed. “There’s too many people like that in the world…where you disregard an entire group because of…oh, nevermind.”

“What were you gonna say?” I asked, tensing up. I didn’t know if he was gonna say something terrible about Mom, but…he probably wouldn’t. I don’t know.

“Oh, well…er, your mother is ho-“

His words were cut short when the door opened again, and Nancy and Sarah walked through. Nancy was carrying a big white plastic binder, and Sarah had her guitar strapped onto her back, but that was always with her except for the trials, I think, I dunno. She did take off the big old grey hobo-jacket she was wearing earlier – now, she just had on a noticeably thin hoodie and jeans.

“Oh, huh,” Sarah mumbled, in a way that showed she wasn’t really sure of what was going on, and she then leaned downed into Nancy’s ear and whispered something. Nancy looked up at her and shook her head, and Sarah sighed. “Do you guys mind if we sit here for a bit?”

I shook my head.

Weston smiled at them. “Not at all!”

Sarah sighed. “Alright, come on, let’s just see what you have to show me.” Nancy nodded and she sat down on the floor on the wall across from where Weston was standing, looked at the line of multicolored tabs on the pages of the binder, and opened up to a certain section. Sarah sat across from her, on the other edge of it.

“Do you know anything ‘bout your state?” Nancy asked.

Sarah thought for a second. “I thought you wanted to show me pictures, not quiz me.”

Nancy stared flatly at the musician.

“Ugh. Okay, fine…” Sarah drummed her fingers on her knee, her other hand holding up her head. “I…I know Washington has a folk song. And that our gem is old wood. Dunno everything else.”

“Really?” I asked, tilting my head up and looking at them. “Old wood?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, though I don’t think she was doing it at me. “It’s, like, petrified wood or something. But, yeah, old wood.”

“So…” Nancy looked over the pictures, then pointed to one. I didn’t see what was in it. “This is your state bird, it’s an American Goldfinch…pretty, huh?”

Sarah nodded. “I guess,” she leaned over, and I guess she looked at the picture for a second. “What did you use to take these? These are good.”

“My dad’s camera,” Nancy nodded to herself, doing something with her hands while they were inside her crossed legs. “Do you know what Washington’s state dance is?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Square dance!” Nancy cheerfully answered.

“No way. Oh, God, that’s embarrassing…” Sarah sighed and buried her face in her hands.

Oh my _God_ this was so boring.

I leaned back against the wall, tilting my head up so I could see the ceiling, trying to not make a sound so I could still seem like I was interested, when all I really wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the…how long have I been in here? Shit.

The two of them kept droning on, Sarah’s high pitched, almost constantly-whiny-sounding voice and Nancy’s still pre-puberty voice with a few hints of how she would sound when she’s older (if she gets older, but don’t think about that) poking through, along with Weston’s always calm and smooth speech coming up every once in a while. I don’t think they need the gravel of my voice, the one that sounds like I smoke a pack a day, but, in reality, is probably because I got hit in the throat a couple of times. Maybe. I don’t know, I’ve never actually looked into it.

For some reason, I felt lonely, even though there were people all around me. It wasn’t that big. It’ll go away soon. Hopefully.

After a while of talking, chattering, annoying voices and me feeling tired and terrible, I decided to get up and do something else. I excused myself from the small group, not caring if they really noticed me getting up, and left.

On the other side of the door was nobody. I wasn’t expecting anybody. I didn’t know where to go. I could just go to the dining room early and get it over with. I went towards the door to the T-hallway, and as I stepped close to it, it opened. Rebecca. She smiled when she saw me, but more like a professional or a school counselor would than a teenager.

“Hello.” She said, closing the door behind her.

I nodded. “Hey.”

Her face turned sour. “Is…are you okay?”

I shrugged. What the hell did she mean? How could she find out? “You knew that just from one word?”

She looked at me. “No, I knew that because your body is bent over, your face looks more ragged than normal, and your voice is incredibly exhausted-sounding.”

“So it’s that obvious.”

She crossed her arms and looked up at me. “Well? Are you going to tell me how you feel?”

I thought about it for a second. Should I? “I mean, it’s not a-“

Something started beeping. What the hell could be beeping? A gun? My gaze shot upwards at the big black metal thing, something that looked like it was made out of several different shapes that didn’t have a good flow to it, but when it did nothing, I looked back, and saw Rebecca looking at a metallic thing on her arm. A watch.

“You had that?” I asked, pointing to the new watch. Unless she's always had it, and I've just never noticed it.

“I do. It’s not something I often wear unless I’m at a meeting, but…considering the time-oriented nature of this new punishment, I guess it’ll be good to keep track of the hours. I'm carrying around a pocket calculater, too…” she put her arm down, and the watch slid down to where her wrist met her hand, so she shoved it back up where her arm got thicker. “That was the hour timer I put on so we wouldn’t miss Mr. Mason’s little…theory.”

Shit, it’s already been an hour? I guess that time I spent spacing out and thinking about my mom put a dent in it. “Well, I guess we’re going, huh?”

“I suppose we are.” Rebecca looked down, then turned around and exited through the door. I followed her all the way to the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where I'm uploading it as soon as I finish, so sorry for the lack of editing. Will come back to this one later.  
> I'm starting to dislike writing these chapters where not a lot happens. They honestly feel like filler. Maybe I should start making things more concise? Then again, next Episode will have nothing like these happen. This may very well be the last one! I'm already looking forward to it.


	46. Hypothesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hear another idea.

Me and Rebecca entered the dining room, and I sat down in my regular seat. Rebecca sat in hers, too. We were the first people there, of course, I guess because nobody else had a watch that said how long an hour was. After a minute of two or waiting, though, Caroline and Gordon came in, then Russell and J.J., then pretty much everyone else except for Franklin.

Edwin was tilting his chair back, feet on the table. “So, we waiting for the crazy guy?”

Caroline glared at him.

Russell sighed. “Yes, we’re waiting for Franklin, but he’s not crazy. Just because he’s…well, he’s skittish and a bit quiet, yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s crazy.”

Edwin rolled his eyes.

Sarah leaned forward on the table. Her guitar case was resting on the wall behind her, and I noticed how carefully she placed it there when she first came in. “So, can we talk more about Mr. Producer’s voice today? That was just…bizarre. Like, really, really bizarre. He’s normally just so…calm and smooth sounding and whatever. But today he was…it was an entirely new voice. Nervous and stuttering and he repeated stuff…”

“He was stuttering earlier. Little sounds, but, I mean, it was there.” I said, leaning back into my chair. I still felt weird.

“However, this time, it was someone different. Perhaps the person who usually provides the voice was unavailable?” Caroline suggested her hand to her chin. “I think the people behind this attempted to have someone do an impression of Mr. Producer.”

“I…” Sarah massaged her forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t get it.”

“I think that weird glitch today was part of it, y’know?” Edwin shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a recording or something. But, I mean, fuck, a recording couldn’t know everything that happens.”

Gordon began to say something, but he was interrupted by the opening of the door. Franklin was standing there, a notebook and an orange book under his arms, and something wrapped in dark blue cloth. He stepped in without a word, not looking at any of us, than placed his objects on the table. He looked down at the table, his hands on either corner of it, and then slowly looked up.

“Who here is familiar with the Reindt Family?” he asked, still not looking at us.

Oh God, not this shit…

Caroline put her hand to her forehead and sighed.

“What’s that, exactly?” Russell crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Franklin cleared his throat, then bowed his head, his arms behind his back. “Shortly after the first World War, Germany was in turmoil, suffering from inflation, a depression, and insufficient leadership. After the Treaty of Versailles, the Reindt family, a prominent lineage of bankers and financers in Europe, realized how detrimental this would be to their business, so, through shrewd negotiation and political machinations, Barnabas Reindt became the last emperor of Germany. This political maneuver shortly lead…”

“Woah, woah…” Edwin put up his hands. “What the fuck does a history lesson have to do with the people behind this game?”

Franklin gritted his teeth, and leaned forward with a hand on the table. “This is _important_. I’m setting up the story to come. This information is _vital_ to your understanding of the information I'm about to impart."

“You're talking about this like it’s a movie or something…” Sarah had her arms crossed, and was kind of shuffling around in her chair. “This is supposed to be an answer, not a story.”

Franklin exhaled through his nostrils. “I’m not giving you the bullet points. I can give you the condensed information, but I’m not going to be skimping the important things.” He was…not stuttering, and he wasn’t acting fidgety. It was…kind of scary.

Rebecca sighed, her arms crossed. “Let’s hear it, then.” Her tone of voice made it clear that she wasn’t too happy with what was going on.

Franklin nodded. “Barnabas Reindt lead Germany effectively, and soon, the Reindt family learned that controlling other nations would be beneficial to their fortune, but they realized that having the chancellors and prime ministers and presidents of the premier countries of the world all be related to the same family would be…cause for alarm. In order to pursue their aspirations, however, they resorted to underhanded tactics. They bribed the members of the congresses and parliaments, put their own constituents in under false names, got laws and bills passed that would directly benefit the Reindts…they began to control the governments of the world behind closed doors, through paperwork and bureaucracy rather than blood and iron…”

Oh…oh God, this was so…

_Stupid._

Everyone else had the same look of secondhand embarrassment on their faces.

“Over time, the Reindt conglomerate became the sole driving force behind most political maneuvers and decisions the world over. They created wars that served only to sell arms and to secure strategic resources from nations that wouldn’t play their game. They would assassinate or otherwise erase members of governments that wouldn’t play along. They would spread their seed as far as they could – every American President since Jonas Robinson in the early 1970’s can trace their lineage back to one Alexander Reindt.”

Nancy looked confused, then leaned over to Caroline. “Is…is this true?” she whispered.

Caroline sighed, then quietly shook her head.

Franlkin continued, pacing the front of the table. “The Reindts would continue to express their dominance through the media, inserting subtle messages into film and TV shows as a form of subliminal hypnotism-“

“Seriously?” Edwin looked just fucking done with it. “Subliminal hypnotism’? Do you know how fucking crazy you sound?!”

“I. Am. Not. C-crazy,” Franklin said forcefully. His brow was meeting the rim of his glasses. “Do _not_ say that again. I’ve heard it all my life, and I am…do not say it again.”

“Fraklin, please, just…” Caroline put a hand to her head.  “Continue.”

Franklin inhaled, then sighed. “As I said, the Reindts control most of the media and a good portion of major world politics. Almost all the news is designed to subtly encourage Reindt policies and businesses, no matter the perceived politics or lack thereof of the media outlet.”

Russell raised his hand, though he didn’t bother to wait for Franklin to call on him. “So, how exactly do you know so much about the ‘Reindts’? he said, and it wasn’t clear if his tone was sarcastic or actually interested.

“Oh, one of my films, the, uh, _‘What I Believe’_ , the one about conspiracy theories…one of the people me and my crew interviewed was someone who ge-genuinely believed in this, so I looked into it more…a-and I read th-this book…” he picked up the book – it was the same one I saw him reading…fuck, how many days ago? It was the orange one. “It’s cal-called _The Journals of the Last Man…_ it’s fic-fictional, of course, but let…I’ll just read the first…the prol-the introduction.” He cleared his throat again, carefully opened up the really annoying-to-look-at cover of it, and began reading.

 

 

> This is a completely fictional account of one revolutionary society, unknown to the common man, but controlling every facet of their society, and the revolutionaries that attempt to combat this tyranny. While I will remind you that every facet of this book is fictional, it is by no means without basis in reality. With some careful examination, you, my reader, will find some great injustice not unlike the ones outlined in this book. I encourage you to fight against these societies and families in every way you know how.

I looked around. Everyone still look embarrassed.

“So…y-you’re basing this…” Edwin leaned forward, his face a mixture of angry and confused. “Off of a fucking **_novel_**.”

“K-Ken Julius did…he researched this book!” Franklin tapped the cover.  “It’s based on true events! And-and everything I told you, it’s-it’s all from my own research! It’s-“

Rebecca dragged her hand down her face. “I still can’t believe…you’re telling us a _conspiracy theory…_ ”

“It’s not-It’s not a conspiracy theory! I kn-know it’s all true! All of it!”

Rebecca sneered at the director, then started talking through grit teeth. “Tell us what this damn theory has to do with us, **now**. You’ve spent long enough talking about this supposed group without giving any substance. Give. Us. Some. **Answers**.”’

Franklin lowered his brow, looked down at the floor, scratched his wrist a little bit, and exhaled. “Fine. Fine, f-fine, fine.” he picked up the bundled up thing, slowly unfurled it, and displayed it meekly.

A knife.

It was a weird, gold and jeweled knife, with a curved grip and blade, with blood-colored jewels on the bottom of the grip and one where the middle, which had some sort of gold symbol on it. I remember seeing it before, but I couldn’t place where or…shit, wait, no. It was in the armory or museum or whatever when it was first opened, and…Edwin used it to frame Rebecca. How did Franklin – wait, Rebecca…she gave it to him. Somehow. Fuck, this all feels so long ago…

I looked towards Rebecca. She was glaring intensely at the knife, then at Edwin. Edwin was looking away at the ceiling, his face a bit embarrassed.

“This knife…I came in-into possession of it…note the, uh, the golden hexagon, with the lines at the cen-cent-er of the lin-the faces, instead of a-at the angles…the Reindt family symbol…”

Weston tapped his chin, leaning forward. “Interesting…”

Rebecca grunted. “You’re not seriously believing this, are you, Weston?!”

“I trust Franklin to know what he’s talking about. He seems…knowledgeable.” Weston shruggled, smiling.

“It’s paranoid ramblings!’ Rebecca shot back, and she was about to say something else before Caroline interjected.

“Rebecca, calm down, this will get us nowhere…” she said, placing a hand up, then sighed. “Franklin, please, continue.”

“Wait, no,” Edwin interjected. This was probably the most I’ve seen him talk in recent memory. “Okay, so you found that knife in the armory, so you think this mansion belongs to the Reindt family, right? What if it’s fake? What if was put there to, like, I dunno, make someone like you think that?”

Franklin froze, still holding the knife in his hands, then looked at Edwin menacingly. “What do you mean ‘someone like me’?”

Caroline shot daggers at Edwin, but he kept going on.

“So-someone who’s crazy enough to believe this shit! Someone who legitimately, like seriously fucking believes this bullshit!” Edwin was…actually angry. Like, almost completely out of his chair. “And why the fuck would this Reindt family fuck around with a bunch of dipshit high schoolers in America?”

Franklin’s face twitched, and he was holding the knife scary-close to his body. “B-bec…because…” he suddenly froze again, then straightened himself out, his confidence apparently returning, and he pointed the knife around, like he was a teacher with a yardstick at a blackboard. “The Reindts want to establish their dominance once again. They want to reveal themselves to the world – to create a new world or-“

“New world order?! Are you serious?” Edwin spat out, still scarily angry.

Franklin pointed the knife at Edwin, his teeth bared. “Do **not** underestimate the Reindts. They have been plotting this for a long time, and they are willing, rather, they **will** take over the entire government and the world. This is likely their first move – to tell to the world that they exist. We’ve only seen the first episode of this show – we don’t know if any of the subsequent episodes have featured the Reindts announcing their plans, or even if the world has already fallen to the regime. We might be the only people alive on Earth free of Reindt control.”

Nancy made a little unpleasant sound.

“Okay, listen, just…no.” Edwin shook his head. “No, no, no. What are you, a schizo? Seriously, li-“

Franklin seized up, then his face turned absolutely **furious**. “I knew it. I knew that’s what all you think of me. That’s what EVERYONE thinks of me! A schizophrenic! An insane person! ‘Take the damn pills, Franklin, so you can think right again!’ This _is_ thinking right! I can see the things that make the world tick, that everyone has ignored because they’re not ready for the truth!” He was holding his head, maybe, like, keeping it from flopping over, almost on the verge of screaming, and his eyes were wide and white and really fucking scary. “I…I…I knew it. I knew it all along. Of course you’re not…you’re all…you’re _them_. You’re all Reindt conspirators, after undergoing…training, to…all the deaths have been actors, and…all of you. You want the information I have on the Reindt family, you want to eliminate…m-microchips to…you…you all have ‘R’ in your name! Pescatore, Rebecca, Caroline, Marigold…it’s all so obvious…” he was breathing fast, and he was swaying around like he was about to collapse. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew-“

“Franklin, please…” Caroline slowly stood up, and I could trace her gaze to the knife in Franklin’s hands. “Listen. We’re not  conspirators, or out to eliminate you, or anything like that. We’re caught in this situation just like you are. We’re ready to help yo-“

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Franklin was trembling, his knife hand outstretched. “Get. Away. From. Me. You’re just going to…interrogate…” his breathing became more…forced. He seemed like he was wearing himself out. Not that it made him any less terrifying. “Don’t…don’t…oh…god…” he slowly began to inch towards the door, then rushed towards it, opening it as little as possible, flying through the crack, then slamming it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This miiiight be offensive to certain people. I'm honestly basing most of my knowledge of this particular kind of character off of fiction and the research I did into it a while ago. So if I actually end up alienating people - I'm sorry, and I'd appreciate you telling me exactly what I got wrong or is offensive so I know better next time I attempt this.  
> I also realized I might be playing the mental illness card a bit too much. It's actually an interest of mine, and I have done a lot of looking into it. This is the last time someone will turn out to be seriously mentally ill, though there is one last character who is just generally ill rather than having a serious mental concern. I should probably stress that this is my first time writing something like this - I'm basically just throwing my ideas at the wall and seeing what sticks. This probably doesn't let me off the hook at all, but I'd just like for you to consider it.  
> I had a lot of fun writing this - conspiracy theories are somewhat of a hobby of mine. One thing I'd like to point out is that the book Franklin brings to attention, "The Journals of the Last Man", is somewhat based off of a real book, "The Turner Diaries". I don't know why, but I'm enamored with this book, though I absolutely abhor the politics contained inside. The plot is kind of fun to read up on, just to see how extreme it gets.  
> I rambled a bit. Oh well. I guess this is an important chapter.


	47. Cooldown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which most everyone acts calmly and rationally.

What just happened?

I could feel myself sinking into my chair. Franklin had just stormed out. Was he crazy? Was he, like, seriously mentally ill? Was…what if all of that was true? What if what he said…what if we were really the only people on Earth that weren’t under the Reindt control? Wait, no, what am I saying? That’s all busllshit. It’s just insane ramblings, like Rebecca said. But…but…I don’t even know what to believe nowadays.

Caroline sighed, then bowed her head. Her arms were crossed, and she was leaning back in her chair. “Paranoid schizophrenia, if it wasn’t obvious enough. He…he showed some of the symptoms – delusions, rage, anxiety, a distrust of others…it’d be impossible to tell if he suffers from the auditory or visual hallucinations unless he tells us directly, though I don’t see him trusting us with that sort of information or experience. Judging by his comment about medication, though…it seems relatively certain.”

“So I was right?” Edwin leaned back. “He was crazy. A schizo.”

Caroline showed a small amount of anger on her face. “Please, stop using that word.”

Edwin rolled his eyes. I guess he didn’t want to bother arguing right now.

Russell sighed, leaning forward. “I guess there’s no sense in talking to him, trying to get him to calm down.”

Gordon scratched his neck, fidgeting in his chair, then sighed, looking up and facing all of us. “I don’t believe it. That he’s schizophrenic. He’s just…maybe this experience snapped him? I mean, he seemed fine earlier, just, like, skittish, and, yeah, maybe a bit paranoid, but he wasn’t a schizo.”

Caroline winced when Gordon used that last word.  “I...I suppose it’s possible, but unlikely. He did mention being on medication before, which apparently tied into ‘not thinking right’…” she sighed and rolled her head on her neck a little bit. “It’s…I couldn’t say for sure.”

Sarah shrugged, her kneed bouncing, and her head looking down. “I know a kid at school who believes that sort of stuff. Like, conspiracy theories. But he’s not insane,” she paused for a bit, still fidgeting in her seat. “What if he started talking about this conspiracy Reindt stuff, and someone put him on the pills to shut him up so he could keep his fame? Like, like, how some kids take ADHD meds to study harder, I think. I mean, I don’t think that’s the right, like, thing, but…” she sighed again, “I dunno. I don’t believe it. You can think that sort of stuff without being a schizophrenic, right?”

“I…I doubt it. He seemed to fit most of the symptoms,” Caroline was still in her somewhat-depressed-looking pose. “In my studies, this is certainly a textbook case.”

Edwin scoffed, rolled his eyes, and looked at Caroline. “Ain’t you a consumer psychologist? Like, someone who studies what shit people buy instead of people?”

Caroline froze, then looked at Edwin. “Just because my specialty is in another field does not mean I’m unknowledgeable in the rest.”

Sarah winced. “So…you’re not a…you haven’t studied mental disease?”

“No, no I haven’t. Not professionally. I’m aware of it, and I can diagnose it, but-“ Caroline began,

“Those books you’ve written, what were they about?” Sarah leaned in.

Caroline sighed, turning her head away from Sarah before she answered. “Consumer psychology in general, or at least my impressions of it, how advertising works, and the effects on advertising on the average viewer.”

“You…you _bitch_.” Sarah talked through grit teeth. “I trusted you! You’re telling me all that shit you said about how I felt, you were just talking out of your ass?!”

“Sarah…” Nancy said to the musician, sounding a bit worried.

“I wasn’t…no. I was not just…it was actual advice that I gave you as a peer, drawing off of my experience and my studies.”

Sarah held her fists tight. “I…I told everything to you…my rehab time, my…but…” she buried her head in her hands. “I trusted you, and…”

“Sarah, just because I’m not studying that sort of psychology doesn’t mean I’m not able to listen to you and evaluate what you tell me.”

I…didn’t know what to say. Should I…something didn’t make sense. “Didn’t you diagnose Samson and Dianna after they…did you actually know what they had?”

Caroline felt the inside of her collar a bit. “I estimated. I didn’t know what they were suffering from, since I didn’t…I couldn’t interview them and get a good idea of-“

“You tried to ‘diagnose’ Samson?” Edwin sneered again. “Seriously? He was the best person here.”

Caroline sighed.

“Did Sophia have an illness, too? Huh?” Edwin continued, though the answer was probably pretty obvious, to me, at least.

“Possibly a psychopath.” Caroline said, a bit sadly. It was like she knew she was losing this battle.

Edwin rolled his eyes. “Not everyone’s crazy.”

Caroline sunk deeper into her chair.

“Didn’t you say that…that Dianna had something? Eer-oto-mania?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if…I don’t know.

“What’s erotomania?” Rebecca asked.

Caroline was beginning to close up with her body. “I-it’s a…a delusion that someone…that someone loves you, and they send it through little, uh, little signals that only the person suffering it can…can understand…” her speech wasn’t as sophisticated as it once was. It was a bit weird.

Rebecca looked towards me, then at Caroline. “That does sound fairly reasonable.”

I shrugged.

Gordon leaned forward on the table, one of his hands on his face. “Okay, so Caroline isn’t a fucking mental health expert. I’m not anything other than a guy who studied organs and how they go in the body, but I bet you all trust me with your medical stuff, right? Just because someone’s talent is one thing doesn’t mean they’re stupid in another.”

Caroline nodded.

Russell sighed. “I mean, I do track and field and I do some writing on the side. Just because I’m a football player doesn’t mean I’m dumb in those areas.”

Sarah was leaning over, her arms crossed, and she wasn’t looking at anyone. “I still don’t trust you with that sort of stuff.”

Edwin still wasn’t looking at anyone, his face still disgusted. “That still doesn’t give you the damn authority to slap people with diagnoses every time they say something mean.”

Nobody said anything for a little bit. I guess we were all out of things to say.

I still wasn’t sure about Franklin. He had that knife on him. He could be anywhere. He was…I don’t want to use the words ‘crazy’ or ‘schizophrenic’, but…yeah. “What are we going to do about Franklin?” I asked.

I looked towards Caroline. She was still in that slumped-over position and she didn’t seem like she was going to answer.

Russell exhaled deeply. “He doesn’t seem dangerous. Just afraid.”

Edwin sighed. “Lock him in his room. Block the door. Do something.”

“We’re not going to treat someone like an animal just because they gave some insane theory and…threatened someone with violence,” Rebecca looked down. “I didn’t see any malice in his eyes, though…just fear.”

“He doesn’t seem safe..” I said. He just…didn’t

Weston took a quick look at his I.D. “It’s…it’s only 2. What should we do? Look for Franklin and make sure he’s not plotting anything?”

Sarah was leaning back in her chair, still looking depressed. “He didn’t seem like…like he was going to do anything…he’s probably just holed up in his room.”

I sighed. “Should we just…like, I don’t think we could just keep talking until it’s time to go to bed…too much shit has happened.”

Caroline silently nodded.

“I, uh…” Nancy stuttered. “I kinda wanna keep talkin’…”

Gordon shrugged. “It’s not like we’re trapped in this room. People are free to leave, right?”

Russell nodded. “I think I’m going to do some laps around the pool.” Without saying anything else, he got up and exited.

I shrugged, slowly rising out of my seat. “I’m just gonna…yeah.” I got out of the chair, left the table, which was kind of easy since there weren’t any chairs on either side of me, and left through the door.

I stood on the other side of the wooden door. What to do? What the fuck _could_ I do? There is literally nothing to do in this fucking mansion, other than just sit around and wait for the fucking siren to go off.

I walked forward a bit, then heard the door behind me open and close, so I looked behind my back. Sarah, putting on her guitar case with the sling. No Nancy.

I remembered what she had said – something about rehab. My secret was about someone being in rehab. Should I ask her? Probably not, right? I shouldn’t – wait, shit, I’m turning around. Fuck.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I said, trying to use my softest voice.

She sighed, looking defeated. “Yeah, I was in rehab. Alcoholism.”

“Really? How old were you?”

She finished throwing the case over her shoulder, then looked away. “15. I got busted for bringing a flask of whiskey or something like that to a school lock-in. Going to a rehabilitation program was one of the stipulations for going back to school.”

“That sucks.” I didn’t know what to say.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m surprised as you are that Columbia National decided to enroll me. I thought that was grounds for being struck out.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Whatever.”

 I waited for Nancy to come through the door. She didn’t. “Where’s your friend?”

“Huh? Oh, Nancy…” she scratched her neck, then ran her fingers through her hair. “I dunno. She decided to stay in there…honestly, I just want to be by myself right now…and she does kind of get annoying after a while…”

“Really?” I would’ve never guessed it. Nancy seemed like a patient kid.

“I mean…a little bit. Not that much. She’s still my friend, though I think she views me more of a ‘big sister’ than a friend. She didn’t have her own - at least, I don’t think she did. And her parents…nevermind.”

“What about her parents?” I remember when she talked about her parents at the bonfire…it didn’t seem like she was happy to get pictures of them in her package.

“It’s…complicated…” she adjusted her pose a little bit. She didn’t seem comfortable with what she was saying at all. “Trust me, it’s nothing I should be blabbering about. Ask her, if you want.”

“Uh…alright.” That did make me a bit curious. But did I want to ask her?

“I’m gonna go to a quiet place for a while…” Sarah avoided eye contact. “Don’t follow me.”

That was…kind of rude, but I guess it made sense. Still seemed like a dick thing to say.“Alright.”

She left where she was standing, not even bothering to wave goodbye, and I was left alone. Again. Nobody else came out of the dining room. What should I do? What could I do?

You know what sounded nice? Going into my room, eating some tres laches, and not doing anything for the rest of the day. It was safe, relaxing, and while it would probably get hot, it wouldn’t get hot all at once.

Fuck it. Let’s do it.

Nobody was in the hallway. Nobody was in the staircase. Nobody was in the dorm hallway. Was this place just really big, or were we just that tiny of a group now? Would we get smaller? After what happened today…it was kind of hard to stay optimistic.

I thrust my I.D. into the slot on my door, and I immediately imagined that I was shoving a knife into someone’s stomach.

I paused.

I ran through what I just imagined again.

I just thought about shoving a knife – a serrated combat knife – into someone’s – a girl’s – stomach.

What. The. Fuck.

I looked over my shoulders hastily, like someone could read my thoughts. I was trembling. There wasn’t anyone here. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, this was bad. What the fuck was wrong with me? I rushed inside my dorm, collapsed onto the bed, and kept reviewing what I thought over and over again. The girl had on a white blouse and long blonde hair. The knife had blood on it. Was this stuff in my original thoughts, or was I making it up now? Why am I still thinking about this? Am I dangerous now? Was that , like, was I _actually_ going to do that? Am I on the edge of my sanity now? Would I flip out and kill someone soon? Are girls going to be safe around me? Was the blouse supposed to represent Rebecca? That’s something she would wear, right? Why did the knife have blood on it? Did I already kill someone? Is the blonde hair supposed to be Dianna? Why am I breathing so fast? Where’s my mom? I want my mom. Is someone knocking at the door? Is that just my heart? I’m cold. I’m sweating so much. I’m so cold. Will we survive? What day is it? What time is it? Where am I? Is Jack Gue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter that I finished about a dozen minutes ago (or, at least, the length of one Godspeed You! Black Emperor song), but unlike those, I'm actually happy about how this one ended! I've been waiting to use this trick for a while, and while I probably should've waited for a more striking moment to use it, I still like how it turned out.   
> I'm thinking of taking a short hiatus until I'm back on my laptop again, mostly so I can just write a reserve of chapters and finish up the FTEs. It's probably to late to announce my intention of doing this, and if I did say I would be doing it next week...well, my laptop's been in the repair shop for about seven weeks, so it's probably almost done!


	48. Chapter 48

the man smiled and laughed and smiled, for he was no man, and his true identity could not exist in this world, and his power was great and he could not be forgotten even after millennia, he said for many years for many years we have waited and now it was coming to fruition and its this the mad one had their flesh and their very flesh burst and from the flower came the world where you and i could be one she said this is why then the bastard screamed, the child wept, and the child wept, the static roared, the rider maybe im okay maybe im okay maybe im okay maybe im the pillar fell mightily and from it the land emerged where justice this isnt true, The child wept as we twisted her life into an aberration. None of us are saints. Stop, Rebecca said. Stop. Please, stop,  I hate you, Sophia said, dont get near me, youre disgusting, youre dangerous the vomit was tinged with blood and would not stop until he had choked on their own sickening fluids, and the rich man sighed and and carried on, though he secretly wanted  I want you, said her, stop, stop, said rebecca, and the child kept sobbing until her throat stopped her, the strategist lurked and laughed and laughed, Russell dont you hate yourself for what youve done and what you witnessed here and how youve secretly enjoyed all of it maybe not blatantly or openly but youve still watched and why and watched and why and why, and watched, You must be some sick, sick person, huh? I’ll say it again – you enjioyed this, but I can’t imagine why. You said to yourself how bad this teenage skater, BMX athlete, and motocross rider, who was additionally enrolled in Columbia National Academy, was maybe she is glad were gone, why would she care for you if she’s not of your flesh, we have no connection to her,  kept drinkinn and drinkin until they was numb, and she said “ye wish ye were happy as me, where ye can be pleasedd wit’ and the young pious man, he visited his father that day, and the father said how happy he was to - I slowly dragged my knife along her throat, and once I passed the middle, it occurred to me that I’d never enjoy her why this me why why some pills and eat them and go out like the stars at the end of timnee all of us I am an alright, upstanding member of society, I am a human being, but she says no, no you can’t you’ve been dreamkming of maiming her breast and cutting cutting we’re terrible, aren’t we? We’re just the fucking worst. My God, My God. You always wonder if there’s some greater purpose in life, don’t’ you, Jack,? That you’re meant to be sdestinged for fomethying greater but the treusth is that

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one chapter that I don't feel bad about not editing beforehand. That's all I really have to say, other than this is something of a love letter to one of my favorite American authors, Cormac McCarthy. Of course, since it's too late to go back into the previous chapters of this story and remove all the quotation marks and most commas. I might just have to do something stupid and create an entirely new fic just so I can make my own western. Hint hint.


	49. Coffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack wakes up after he didn't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important news at the end of this post, but the tl;dr of it is that I'm going on a maybe two week hiatus.

knock, knock, knock

I woke up from…I didn’t know if I was sleeping. Was I sleeping? What happened last night? I remember…me going up to my room. I…nothing. Absolutely nothing. I couldn’t remember anything other than this feeling of…panic. Why the hell was I panicking? There wasn’t anything to panic about. Was there?

knock, knock, knock

There was knocking. How could someone knock on a soundproofed door? How could someone slide a knife under a soundproofed door? They probably weren’t soundproofed. I got up from my bed, went over to my door, and looked at the bottom of it. I could fit my index finger under the gap. Shit, they were lying.

I was hot, so I zipped off my jacket and threw it to the ground. Did I sleep or pass out or something in this? I should probably wash it. It’s been a week. I caught a glimpse of the coffin with angel wings on the back, the patch, my trademark. I never realized how fucking morbid that was. It’s…kind of gross. I’m getting that removed when…if I make it out.

knock, knock, knock

I should probably answer that. I opened the door, since I was relatively close to it, and was face-to-face with Nancy, in sleeveless t-shirt that showed off a surprising number of small scars, and a pair of shorts, her hair still braided, looking up at me. She didn’t look innocent or anything, like normal, just annoyed.

“Yeah, er…are you alright?” She asked, her voice kind of a mixture of actual concern and a bit of frustration.

I dragged my hand down my face. I didn’t know what was going on, but…I wasn’t concerned about it. It was a weird, carefree feeling. My thigh hurt, though that was probably because I did whatever on my knife. “I guess.”

“Yeah, you kinda disappeared after that thing, and you’ve been in here since…it’s, uh, it’s 11 AM right now…”

I stood there in silence. I’ve been asleep for…fuck. I’m not doing math right now. But, still, I don’t remember a thing about last night after I went into my room, and…that really can’t be good. I should probably talk to someone about it, and unlike all the other times I said that to myself, I might actually do it.

“Hey, are you okay?” she was sounding more concerned now.

I rubbed my head. Hair was still growing longer. “Yeah.”

“You seem…like…er…high.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t as offended as I should be at that. “I just had a rough night.”

She nodded. “I did too…Sarah saw that my door was open, and I caught a lotta flak for it.”

“You left your door open?” That was…incredibly, incredibly stupid.

“I don’t mean t’!” She crossed her arms and pouted. “I just…I'm not used to closin’ doors so hard, and I just kinda leave them open a crack…”

“Still not good…” I rubbed my eyes a little bit more. I still felt…tired, but in a weird way. I guess it did feel like being high. “Why are you up here, anyway?”

“We got concerned about you and Franklin. Nobody’s seen the either of you all day, don’t you know? I, uh…got the short straw…” she pressed the tips of her index fingers together. “I wanted to talk to you first, since, uh…yeah…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine…” I stretched a bit. I felt a little bit more awake. “Want me to come look with you?”

She paused for a second. “Are you…uh…all in one place?”

I shrugged. “I feel fine.” I lied. I felt a little light-headed, but I’m sure that would go away.

“Uh, yeah, sure, okay.” She nodded, then stepped away to let me get out of my room, which I did. I stretched my neck, looked up at the ceiling, which wasn’t really anything special.

“So, his room’s at the end of the hall, right?” I asked Nancy, walking forward a bit, then looking at her. She nodded.

We walked down the hall in silence. I didn’t look at her, and I don’t think she looked at me. After a few seconds, we eventually reached the door with Franklin’s bony and a bit unsettling face on it. I looked at her, she shrugged, and I went up to the door and knocked.

No answer.

“Well, that’s that.” I said, and I started to turn around.

“Hey! I knocked on your door, like, 10 times! You’re gonna give up after three?”

I shrugged. “Do you really want me to keep knocking?”

She paused, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

I nodded with her, sighed, then knocked again, and again, and again, and I waited for a little bit. Nothing.

“Do it some more.” she asked.

I knocked once. This time, I could hear some shuffling on the other side of the door, more evidence that it wasn’t soundproofed, and it opened a crack, at first, then it slowly revealed Franklin’s eye, without glasses.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice mostly clear, but a bit unstable.

Nancy leaned in from where she was standing, probably so she could look at Franklin’s face. “We were just checkin’ up on ya. Is everythin’ alright?”

Franklin did a dry laugh. “They send the two scarred people to check on the man with scars on his mind…I understand it.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. I honestly had no idea, so I looked at Nancy to see if she had any, and she just shrugged.

“It’s a taunt by the Reindts, though, of course, you’d know that,” he did another short, dry laugh. “You told me how ‘damaged’ I was yesterday afternoon, so you send the two people with those little aberrations covering their body, just to remind me of your terrible words. This was planned, I’m sure.”

“What are, uh ‘abber-atiuns’?” I asked. I mean, it still didn’t make any sense, which I guess was because it was crazy, but I didn’t still understand it.

“They’re…they’re those little claw marks on her chin…the long gash above your eye…those things that the makeup artists put on you to provoke me, and…”

Nancy felt the claw marks on her chin, though her face was more annoyed than regretful or anything. “They’re real. These are all real!”

“Alright, alright, whatever,” I put my hands up. He was insane. Literally. “Look, are we good? Are you good?”

Another dry laugh. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Don’t expect me to come around to your little cast parties and socials, though. I can find my own…entertainment.”

Nancy nodded. “Fine.” She said, still a bit annoyed.

I could see the small segment of a smile on his face, and he slowly began to close the door.

“Goodbye!” Nancy said into the crack before it was gone entirely.

The door closed, not with a bang, but with the small creak of the hinges.

Nancy stood there for a second, then sighed, and made her way down the hall. I caught up with her, then shrugged. “Kind of a freak, right?” I said, trying to break the ice.

“Caroline doesn’t like that word.” She sighed, then shook her head.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Caroline.”

She turned towards me, and smiled. “We braid each other’s hair every morning! It’s really fun talkin’ to someone as smart as her.”

“You...don’t sleep in those?”

She shrugged. “Oh, yeah, sometimes I do, but it can hurt when you sleep on them wrong, but I don’t like havin’ to undo them every night.”

I nodded.

We turned the corner, walked to the door, and I opened it for her. She nodded at me, walked through, and I followed her.

We walked down the stairs in silence, stopping only when we reached the bottom, and we both saw J.J. sitting against the wall. She had on a wifebeater shirt, jeans, and her hair was undone. She looked…bored. Well, maybe a bit depressed. I couldn’t tell. Of course, Nancy walked right over to her and started talking.

“Is everything alright?” Nancy asked, leaning down so she was looking right at J.J.’s face.

J.J. shrugged. “Nothin’.”

“You mean that’s nothing’s alright, or that there’s nothing wrong?” I asked, a bit confused about her answer.

J.J. looked at me and shrugged again. I kind of remembered she, like…didn’t say anything last night. She just sat there with her hand over her face. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

I shrugged. “Alright.”

Nancy crossed her arms, then nodded. “Okay, if you say so.”

J.J. looked at the scout. “And I do.”

Nancy smiled one last time at J.J., then walked over to the door and pushed it open. I walked in after her.

The T-hallway was mostly empty. Well, it was empty. I turned towards Nancy. “Are they in the dining room?”

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

I was…a bit confused, though I had to wait until I started talking to remember why. “Didn’t…didn’t you say…didn’t you say that you drew the short straw? I mean…doesn’t that mean they’re waiting for us?”

She shrugged. “J.J. was in the dining room when we decided on who was gonna go, so I’m not sure.”

“We can check.”

“Yeah, okay.”

We walked over to the door, opened it, and she looked inside the room, before bringing her head back out. “Nope.”

“Uh, alright. What do you wanna do?” I scratched the top of my head, not that it itched, but I just had to give my hands something to do.

Nancy turned back to me and shrugged. “Gotta do something.”

“Maybe we’ll go our…our, uh, separate ways for now,” I suggested. “We’ll probably run into each other later, anyway.” I still felt a bit light headed, but oh well.

She nodded. “Uh…okay, yeah.” She smiled, waved, and slowly backed away, before turning around and walking back into the stairwell.

I looked away for a little bit, not sure what to do. It would’ve been nice to talk to Nancy a little bit more. Why the hell did I say that? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. That’s not a good sign, not after...

I put my hand to my head. It felt like…there was something clawing in the inside of my brain…I couldn’t…grab it, or think of it…but I could feel that it was there. I sensed it…

It was a weird way of describing it, I guess. That’s how I felt. I knew people in movies would say shit like that whenever they deal with memory loss, but that’s how it really felt to me. Shit, does that mean…did I lose my memory? No, that can’t be right. I remembered everything. I could remember my tenth birthday clear as day, or, as much as someone my age could remember of my tenth birthday. I could remember that letter I got from Columbia National Academy. I could remember Malcolm’s corpse, as much as I didn’t want to. Samson’s, too, and…Sophia. And Dianna. I remember the fire, and that box of sweets Rebecca got, and…I wonder if it’s still there? I could remember Franklin freaking out, and…me going up to my room…and…

“Jack?” someone said behind me, and I twisted my neck around. Rebecca, Russell behind her. They both looked concerned.

“What?” I said, maybe a bit annoyed.

“Well, we send Nancy up to check up on you, and then we find you in the middle of the hallway acting like you’re about to collapse,” Russell said, sounding about as annoyed as I was. “Excuse us for being a bit worried.”

I suddenly became more aware of my surroundings. I was covering my face with my hand, and when I pulled it away…there was blood on it, but then there…wasn’t. There was never blood on my hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s…it’s fine, just tell us what’s going on.” Rebecca said, sounding about as calm as she could when she was also losing her patience. “Where’s Nancy?”  

“She went to…the room, the stairwell, and, uh, I feel…it’s alright. I just had a rough night.” I said, turning my body around and scratching the back of my neck, trying to act natural. I felt…different in just a t-shirt and not my jacket.

Russell sighed. “Whatever you say, man.” He didn’t look...well, nice.

I nodded.

“What do you mean by ‘rough night’?” Rebecca asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The…the…uh…” I bit my lip or something, and shrugged. “The heat was getting to me.”

Russell nodded. “It _was_ kind of hard to sleep last night.”

Rebecca shook her head. I guess she didn’t buy what I said. “Fine.”

Russell shrugged, then walked forward a bit, and it was pretty obvious that he was about to leave. “Well, we’ll talk later. Keep cool, alright?”

I nodded. Russell left into the hallway with the pool room, and Rebecca, seeing that the coast was clear, approached me. “Alright, what the hell is going on?” she asked, obviously not happy, and lacking all of the professionalism in her voice.

I glanced back down at my hand, half expecting to see something, but there wasn’t, though I wasn’t sure what I was trying to look for in the first place. Whatever.

I looked back up, and Rebecca looked…grossed out. Repulsed. “Were you…just…”

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I was about to ask something I shouldn’t have.”

I sighed. “Whatever.”

“Really though, you don’t seem…you,” she exhaled, like a really, really quick laugh. “Look, what’s uo with you? You don’t seem…all right.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I said, shaking my head.

“Honestly, you seem, well, your voice is shaky, and it’s higher, and…you seem like you’re inebriated or you’ve taken some pills or something.”

I sighed and shook my head again. Why does everyone think that? “I’m not, I’ve…I had a rough night, okay?”

“You keep saying that,” she sighed, crossing her arms, and looking at me. “Why exactly was your night ‘rough’? Nightmares?”

I...I…”I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

I felt my forehead again, and…stood there for a second, trying to come up with an answer. I then felt a hand grab my wrist, drag it down, and pull me a few inches forward. God damnit, why do people keep doing this? I snapped back to attention, then realizing that Rebecca was the one responsible, and I jerked my hand away.

“What are you doing? Stop dragging me around!” I snapped back.

“We’re going to see someone.” She responded, crossing her arms again.

“Fuck, who?” I grimaced, my teeth clenched.

“Gordon or Caroline. Your choice.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t seem ‘right’ right now.”

I was getting…fairly angry. Probably more angry than I should be. “Christ, I’m fine! Just…stop choosing my shit for me!”

Rebecca was matching my anger. “Do you want to get better?! I’m not trying to choose your ‘shit’ for you, I’m trying to **help**  you!”

“I don’t want fucking help right now. I’m fine.”

“You are delirious, you’re swaying, and you look like you’re about to fuc…like you’re going to collapse! You are **not** fine!”

“Just…shut up!” I yelled back, almost about to start screaming at her. I was fucking furious, and I didn’t know why. I…wasn’t alright, but she couldn’t know that. Nobody could know that.

Rebecca was taken aback, her jaw dropping, before her face twisted into something angrier than I’ve ever seen her. “Do **NOT**  speak to me that way again. Listen, I have half a mind to strangle the air out of you and drag you to someone myself, so I will ask one more time: do you want me to help or not?”

It was like she was on the verge of just storming out of this hallway and never talking to me again. I didn’t want that. I tried thinking really hard about what exactly I was forgetting, trying to tell myself that I was already absolutely fine, that I didn’t need anything, and…nothing.

“Jack?” she asked, sounding still angry, but more annoyed.

Still nothing. I…maybe I should…“Fine. Fine. Let’s go.”

She exhaled, like her anger was leaving her body. “Okay…okay. Who would you like to see?”

I thought a little bit more, then…”Caroline. I’ll talk to Caroline.”

“Caroline?” she asked, walking forward a bit ahead of me, though I didn’t think she knew where exactly Caroline was. “You didn’t seem like you were very accepting of her last night.”

Was I? I didn’t remember saying anything last night. I didn’t remember anything about Caroline last night, actually. “I need help.”

That was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this week was a whirlwind. Me of my family had to travel up to Pennsylvania on account of a family emergency. Without my laptop. I did bring my external hard drive, but I don't have any way of working on the story for a while. (Thankfully, I was smart enough to put this chapter on my phone) To that end, I'm taking an indefinite hiatus - probably two to three weeks, just so I can finish up the chapter I started before I left and maybe the one after that. Keep checking on the fic every Friday during the hiatus, though - I may hit a stroke of luck and find a way to to finish and upload the next chapter!


	50. Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack feels bad.

Rebecca and I stood there in silence for a second. I guess she was thinking of where exactly to find Caroline, which, I mean, it didn’t sound too hard. Her grey hair stuck out like a sore thumb, and we weren’t even in a crowd. Would 11 people count as a crowd? Wait, don’t think about that. I wonder if it was dyed?

“Would you have any idea where she is?” Rebecca asked me. Her anger was pretty much gone now. I guess that was good.

I shook my head, trying to think of anything that would help. I remember…I remembered talking to her a day or two ago, in the library.  “Maybe, uh…” the words were…starting to get harder to say. “Try the library.”

“What makes you say that? Not that I doubt you.”

I rubbed my face for a second. “I was talking to her there yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“I think so.” The days were starting to blend together, honestly. I felt like I’ve been awake this whole time.

“That’s…not a good thing to say. You _think_ it was yesterday? Oh, well…sorry. Let’s try the library, then.” She said, a hint of a smile on her face.

I nodded, and she started walking slowly ahead, her head turned towards me, and I started following her, almost getting ahead of her for a second. She then matched my pace, and we walked faster towards the door to the second door, and we eventually made it to the door to the library after a minute or two.

Thankfully, Caroline was in the library, doing that thing that I remembered her doing, with the notebook and the notepad, but I didn’t remember what it was. She didn’t turn to notice us.

“Hey…” I wheezed out, not sure if it was the right thing to do.

Caroline turned to the two of us suddenly, then sighed. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m not…” I responded.

“I thought you didn’t want my help.” she continued.

Rebecca pat my back. “Jack’s, well, he’s not feeling good.”  she said, kind of like she was my mom. I didn’t like it, so I shook my back to get her hand off, which she did.

“I think you’d want to see Mr. Sandler about that…” Caroline responded, sounding a bit depressed.

“No, it’s…I don’t fell right in my mind, okay?” I felt the side of my skull for a second, though I wasn’t sure why, or how to describe how I was feeling. “I…I fell clouded, and…weird…”

Caroline visibly paused for a second. “That doesn’t sound very good,” she closed the book that she was looking at, then sighing. “Are you sure you want me ‘diagnosing’ you? You all seemed quick to point out that I don’t have any business doing that last night.”

Fuck, this again? I shook my head and tried to say a few words of advice, but I wasn’t sure what I said, if I said anything at all.

Rebecca nodded, stiffening up a bit for some reason. “He does need help, or, er, guidance.”

I agreed.

Caroline looked at the desk for a momnet. “Jack, you seem to be fine. Are you doing this to make me feel better?”

Rebecca sighed. “No use in being paranoid like that, and you didn’t even look at him.”

“That doesn’t help my case.” Caroline said back.

“Just take a look at him.”

“How can I tell what he’s feeling mentally by-“

“Just take a look at him.” Rebecca repeated, firmer than the last time she said it.

Caroline sighed, carefully got out of her chair, and looked at me in the face, then looked right into my eyes. “You seem completely fine.” She said after a few seconds.

“He’s swaying back and forth, and his voice is slurring,” Rebecca shook her head and crossed her arms. Was I slurring? “He’s not fine.”

“He slept for a long period, possibly almost 12 hours.”

“I’m…” I was about to say something smart, but I forgot what I was about to say mid-sentence.

Caroline looked at me, patiently waiting for me to finish, but then she turned her head to Rebecca after I stood there slack-jawed. “I’m not sure what to do – he seems fine. What makes you think I need to evaluate him?”

“He’s been either acting like he was inebriated, like he is now, being perfectly fine, or just angry for the past few minutes.” Rebecca pat my back again, and I didn’t like it.

“He’s just grumpy.”

“Right here…” I finished.

“Hm?” Rebecca looked up at me and said something about me hurting, I think.

“No, no…” I shook my head, and dragged my hand down my face. “I’m right here. Stop saying ‘he’ and…and shit.”

Rebecca nodded a little bit. “Sorry.”

“Jack, in my ‘professional’ opinion, you are 100-percent fine. You’re likely just bogged down from sleeping so much. Take a cold shower, or, if you don’t care about your health, drink some of that disgusting caffeinated soda in the storage room.”

I stared ahead. “Fine. Whatever.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, he can’t be, that’s…” then she looked up at me, then at Caroline, then her face scrunched up. “Fine. Fine. Come on, Jack, let’s go.” She tapped my shoulder, which I still didn’t want her to do, and I sighed, and I turned around, but Caroline also tapped on my shoulder and said a bunch of words that didn’t make sense, but I just nodded. Rebecca lightly tugged at my shirt sleeve, which was better than touching my skin for some reason, and we walked out the door.

“Well, that was very defeatist language,” Rebecca looked around, her hands on her hips. “What do you want to do? I don’t think you need any more sleep, but I don’t want you to wander around alone in this state.”

I shrugged.

“Do you actually hurt? Do you have a headache or anything?”

My head shook.

“Well…do you want to do what she suggested? Cold shower? Energy drinks?”

I thought for a second, though it really wasn’t about what she just asked. “Why do you care about me?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Stupid question.”

Rebecca sighed. “I care about you the way a friend cares about another friend,” she crossed her arms and turned her head, but I could get the feeling from her that she wasn’t embarrassed, I think. She just seemed a bit…what was the word? Exasperated? I think. “I don’t even know why you asked that. Why are you questioning our relationship?”

“I dunno. You seem to, like, like me more than anyone else.”

“Well, it’s not anything romantic, if that was what you’re thinking. But…you were the only one to try and comfort me when I had my first, uh, meltdown, but…”

“Why do you do that?” I asked without thinking.

“What?”

“The outburst…things. When you get really angry.”

Rebecca sighed again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I was about to say something else, probe when I probably shouldn’t have, but Sarah walked out of a room, carrying something wrapped up in her old grey thin jacket.

“What do you have there, Sarah?” Rebecca asked, her arms still crossed, but her eyes fixed on the little bundle Sarah was holding.

Sarah bit her lip and said a few words that I didn’t really catch.

“You shouldn’t have secrets in this place.” Rebecca warned. I didn’t agree with her.

Sarah shook her head, and she wasn’t wearing her beanie, so her frizzy hair kind of shook around her head. “Nope.”

Rebecca and Sarah exchanged a few words, and it was kind of getting agitating, though I don’t know why, so I just blurted out “I really don’t care.”

“It’s…fuck, it’s a swimsuit. We’re going to be using the pool soon, right? It’s already really hot. I figured I might as well get it out of the way,” she unrolled the bundle and quickly flashed the top of what seemed to be a grey one-piece before tucking it back inside the coat, and her voice turned to mush for a second or two. “I mean, I hate the idea that I’m gonna do this, and that people are watching, and…ugh. And the water’s probably gonna be boiling. But I might as well grab the one that doesn’t show off my tits before someone else nabs it, just in case.”

“Hm…it’s a shame that’s all we have to wear…” Rebecca nodded, then looked back. “Didn’t Columbia National Academy give us those standard competition swimsuits?”

I thought about the tiny rubber one I received in the mail, along with that terrible uniform with the plaid tie. “The one boys got was a fucking banana hammock.”

“Yeah, and the one girls got was _way_ too tight on me,” Sarah agreed.  “I had marks for a few days.”

“Again, it’s a shame,” Rebecca rolled her head on her neck a little bit, then looked a bit worried. “All the swimsuits aren’t like that, right? That’s hyperbole?”

“And do…do the boys have, uh, good choices?” I asked.

Sarah nodded, adjusting how she was holding her bundle. “I mean, there was some…covering stuff, but it’s stuff I wouldn’t wear anyway. Frilly or tube tops or whatever. And the guys just have swimming trunks and the occasional, like, little itty bitty thing. But you males have it way better.”

I thought for a moment, then said the first really coherent thought I had. “Why not just, like, uh, not wear a swimsuit?”

Sarah scratched the back of her neck. “I hope you’re saying to just go in my regular clothes instead of suggesting to go in nude, but, like, I’m gonna be around water, and I like my clothes, so I’d rather not ruin them,” she brought the bundle tighter up under her arm, and motioned like she was going to leave. “I gotta go see if this thing fits or if I have an excuse to skip any pool parties that may happen in our near future. I’ll see you two later, ‘k?”

I nodded and waved goodbye, since that’s what humans do, as Sarah walked away and out of the wing, and I stood there for a moment, trying to think of something to say to Rebecca, since that’s what humans do.

“Jack…did you actually imply that Sarah should go…er…” Rebecca asked, her tone a bit disgusted.

My mind completed what she said, and…I’m not even going to say what I thought about. It was gross. Well...I mean, it wasn’t bad. I just thought of Sarah naked, and my mind immediately shot that mental image out of my head and I could my feel my face become disgusted and twisted at the same time.

“Jack? What’s-“

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I said, trying not to think about what I just thought about even though I was still thinking about it.

“Whatever you say.” Rebecca crossed her arms, taking a different, relaxed pose. “Well, I-“

Caroline walked out of the library, which kind of interrupted us since we were right in front of the door, and she looked behind her shoulder at us, shrugged, and walked out of the wing.

“WELL…” Rebecca continued, her face really annoyed. “I think you’ve had enough time to decide what you want to do.”

“What?”

“Cold shower or a few energy drinks or whatever you want to do to wake up.”

I paused for a moment and remembered what those words mean. “I haven’t…I don’t think I’ve had a shower in a…like…a while.”

“Really! Ough!” Rebecca grimaced, which was probably understandable. “You’re going to want to do that now that it’s getting hotter,” she paused, and bit the corner of her mouth. “Is that why you took off your jacket? Because it’s going to get hot?”

I nodded. Not feeling leather against my arms did feel weird after around a week of doing that, but oh well.

“Alright, just…you go shower a bit, and I’ll stay down here. I…I want to check out the dressing room. To make sure Sarah was doing what she said she was doing.”

“You don’t trust her?”

“I do, but…I just want to be sure my trust is in the right place.”

“Fine, sure, alright.” I stepped away from where we were standing, waving my arm goodbye as I exited the hallway.

The trip up to my room was extremely uneventful, just me walking and passing by J.J., who was still sitting in the corner in the stairwell, and I passed by her without stopping, climbing the stairs, walking the few dozen steps to my room, waiting until I got to the open bathroom door to take off my clothes because of that damn mirror, walking inside the shower, turning the dials to the lowest they can go, and then hitting the knob in the middle that turned on the shower.

I’ll be honest – it hurt at first. The water felt like knives that pierced my skin, without the heat from the blood rushing out of the wound that usually comes with something sharp entering your body – believe me, I know. It was a weird sensation. But, the pain and the sheer coldness of it sent shocks through my nervous system, traveling like electricity from tesla coils through the veins and up to my brain where it sent signals to the grey matter in my skull that made it feel alive and good and _god damn it felt great_.

I spent more than a few minutes under the liquid nitrogen-like water, the shocks coursing inside my body, then I quickly switched to hot water to actually clean myself, turned the shower off, walked out, cleaned myself with a towel, and put my clothes back on, and walked out, ready to take on the day that was halfway over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because this chapter is, by far, the longest one, I'm trying to shove what would be considered two chapters into one. Expect more longer chapters in the future. Though we are coming up on the crescendo of this chapter, though, and the following murder.


	51. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack gets a burst of energy.

I made my way quickly back down to the first new wing, the one with the – well, the one I was just in with Rebecca, and I found her in the hallway, rubbing her eyes, then looking up at me. “How do you feel?” she asked me, smiling wide.

“Fine. Better,” I stretched, cracking my knuckles a bit, even though my mom always said it would give me arthritis. Whatever. “Did you find anything? In the closet?”

She shook her head and scratched the back of her neck. “Nope, just a lot of scraps of cloth that called themselves swimsuits, and a lot of high-end articles of clothing, too,” she put her hand to her chin and bowed her head down. “I’m good with my blouses and my sweaters, but I might have to change that in the near future.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t really sure what else to say.

“I noticed you already took measures to keep yourself cool.” She said, gesturing towards me.

I guess she meant my jacket. “Yeah.” I repeated.

“You look…different without it on. The leather adds about half of inch on your body…” she stifled a laugh. “Your arms are pretty scrawny, now that I can look at them.”

I looked at my own arms. Not scrawny! They had muscles! “They’re not skinny!”

“Well, the jacket adds a bit of a thickness.”

“Whatever.” I crossed my thick-and-not-at-all-scrawny arms in front of my chest.

Rebecca made a little relieved sigh. “Well, hm…” she checked her watch, which was kind of loose on her hand. You know who had scrawny arms? Rebecca. “It’s a little after noon. What do you want to do?”

“What do you want to do?” I asked back.

She paused for a second, looking up at the ceiling. I looked up there too. Nothing. “I’m not really sure myself…I don’t want to leave you alone.”

I had a feeling she was saying that because she didn’t want to be left alone. I didn’t know if that was a bad thing to think. If only my mom was here to tell me. Speaking of which, I really didn’t know if that thing I thought about Sarah was a bad thing to think, or if that thing I thought last night was a bad thing to think, or if that…

What did I think last night? What did I _do_ last night? I felt like I’ve been asking myself that question already. I rubbed my closed eye, trying to think hard  about what happened, and…

I looked at Rebecca with my open eye. She had on a grey-white blouse. Short sleeved. I thought I caught a glimpse of a lock of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t really recognize it until what happened last night came back to my mind in full force, locking my mind into reliving everything in full detail.

Stabbing this girl. Watching a little kid cry, then strangling her, and then watching some girl drink an entire bottle of vodka, and then killing another girl by stabbing her in the throat, and then having everyone kill themselves at

“Jack? Are you okay?”

“I….”

“Jack?”

I took my hand from my eye and looked at her. _You hated me_.

“You’re…you’re looking at me…like”

“What?”

“Like you hate me.”

“No! No, no, no, no…” I shook my head, trying to get all these fucking thoughts out of my brain but they were staying in there and not leaving and oh go doh go d oh god

I blinked, and when I looked up Rebecca was holding me by the shoulders, looking me straight in the eyes. “Jack, tell me what you’re thinking **right now**.”

“You don’t want to hear what I’m thinking.”

She looked shocked for a second – I guess that’s normal. I don’t know what’s normal anymore. “As…” she began, her voice making it clear that she was unsure about what she was about to say.”As long as you’re not thinking about snapping my neck right now, I’m really not concerned.”

I paused for a second. Should I tell her-

“Jack, tell me the truth.” She pleaded. Her patience was wearing thin.

“I…like…I…I had this weird…hallucination or…something. Last night.”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell Caroline this?!” she yelled at me.

“Because I didn’t remember it! I didn’t remember anything about it until just now when I saw your blouse or your shirt or whatever the fuck you’re wearing!”

“What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“Because…because…I slid my I.D. into the slot and my…my mind, like, made it into me stabbing some girl with that-“

Rebecca looked…afraid. She looked afraid. Because of me. “D-did…did you…feel like…”

“No, no, no…I just imagined that and I just fucking hated myself, and then I just fell into my bed and I freaked out and…”

Rebecca had taken her arms off my shoulders by this point, and she wasn’t looking at me, instead having her hand over most of her face, like she wasn’t trying to even give me the courtesy of looking at her eye. “You…as long as you knew it wasn’t right to…you can’t police your thoughts, but…”

“I know, I know, okay? But I’m not going to do it. I…I knew it’s not something I’d do.”

“Okay…okay…” she exhaled. “I think you need to talk to Caroline about this. Now that there’s something to talk about.”

I thought about it for a second. “No, no,” I said, thinking of a reason why immediately after I said it. “She’ll think we’re making it up.”

Rebecca paused for a few seconds, then sighed. “I don’t want to say that’s right, but…damn it. Okay, listen to me, you’re going to not speak of this to anyone, and then first thing tomorrow, you’re going to tell Caroline about this like it happened tonight. Okay?”

I nodded.

“Okay, okay…now, what to do with you…oh, damn, how long did you spend in that shower?”

I shrugged. “Five minutes. Maybe, like, seven.”

She ran her hand through her black hair. “Ugh, that’s not enough…that’s really not enough. You’re going to feel tired soon – believe me, I’ve done that to keep awake during long conventions and long stints of studying to know how long I need to stay awake for the next few hours, and it’s upwards of 15 minutes…and you’re bigger than me, so…well, I don’t know the specifics of it, but don’t expect to stay as coherent as you are for much longer.”

I…god damn it. I felt fine now, but I was going to get worse soon. Shit.

“Alright, just go back up there and take another one. Longer.”

 “If I do it when I’m already awake, will…like, will it even do anything?”

Rebecca paused again. “I don’t know. Common sense says it would, but…just do it.”

“I don’t want to chance it.”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna be in that cold water for, like, fifteen minutes, and get hypothermia or whatever and…I don’t know, I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

“You…” she dragged her hand down her face. “Fine. I’ll just…fine,” she sighed, then looked at me. “I guess I’m babysitting.” she said, without any hint or humor in her voice.

“I’m not a fucking ‘baby’!” I shot back. Why the hell would she even call me that?

“You refused to take another shower because you thought it wouldn’t ‘work’ and because it was ‘cold’.”

“Whatever.”

She grunted, in a way that made it clear she wanted to put a nice ‘fuck’ before what she was about to say. “I guess we’ll…ugh, I don’t know, sit in the game room and watch something until you fall asleep, and then I’ll…I can’t carry you, damn it…I’ll just…can’t leave you in there, either…”

“Why don’t you just drag me up to my room?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“That works.”

Fuck. “Alright, alright, fine, but I’m not gonna pass out. I’ll be awake.”

“Whatever you say.”

She stepped near the door to the game room, opened it, and gestured for me to follow, so I went in.

The firs thing I did was climb over the couch and sit back down on it, like an attempt to prove that I was still awake, and I heard a sigh from behind me. Rebecca walked over to the racks of DVD cases on the side of the T.V., using her I.D. as a terrible flashlight, then grunting again. “They’re all video games.”

“Yeah, duh, this is-“

“Shut it,” another grunt. “Fine, fine, fine, I’ll go grab the first one I see from the other T.V.” She left in a huff, and I sat there in the dark for a few minutes until the door opened again.

“Back already?” I asked.

“No?” someone said. Russell, I guess.

“What’s up?” I sat a bit more up from the couch, looking over the back, and seeing Russell standing inside the doorframe, leaning against it.

“Nothin’, wanted to play some ALF, maybe with you. Who you waiting on?”

“Rebecca.”

“Why?”

I rubbed my eyes a little bit. They were starting to bother me. I guess I was feeling tired. “I’m too tired to function, according to her, so she’s going to show me a movie until I fall asleep and then she’s going to drag me to my room.”

“That sucks. The dragging bit. I could probably fireman’s carry you up.”

“I gueeess.”

“Alright, cool,” He walked in, stretched a little bit, than sat cross-legged by the couch, his head still above the arm of it. “So, you’re tired?”

I sighed. “I guess I am. According to Rebecca.”

“I mean, you look tired.”

“Thanks.” I kept rubbing my eyes.

“So, what are we-“ Russell started, before the door opened.

“Okay, if nothing else, this will speed up the inevitable,” Rebecca started, before almost tripping over Russell’s knee. “What the-? Oh. Hi.”

“Heya. Jack told me about everything.”

“Alright, fine. I guess you’ll be the one carrying him.”

“We already figured that out.”

“Why are we doing this again?” I sighed. “I’m not going to bed any time soon. This is such a stupid idea.”

There was a pause.

“Why not let me just sit up in my room until I fall asleep?”

“Do you want to lie in your bed until you finally go asleep? Just sit there in an empty room and not do anything?” Rebecca said.

“Can I do anything else?”

“What else is there to do?”

There was another pause. This time, it was because of me.

“Just play the fucking thing.” I said, sighing and sinking down into the couch.

There was some mechanical whirring noises, the sound of something plastic hitting something wooden, then the sound of something sinking into a cushion, and finally, the T.V. came on, and the DVD menu flashes – “The Bible: Explained and Expounded”.

“What is this?” I said, my patience already fucking gone.

“A documentary about the – “

“Fuck, just play it…”

“Okay.”

It was the most _boring shit ever_. Just shots of Middle-Eastern towns and guys in robes and thunderbolts and it all ran into eachother and there was this dry British guy narrating and god god god...I hated it. I didn’t want to watch any more. I just sat there, stewing, listening to the British guy narrate about Jesus this and God that and...I just fucking felt myself sinking into the couch more and more...and I just closed my eyes because I didn’t want to watch any more...I felt it getting harder and harder to hate this guy as the movie went on...and I ju

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time for 6 pages, mainly because I had no idea how to end it. It's why it's showing up so late. I'm really starting to hate this Episode. Thank god I'm pulling an author fiat and skipping ahead to the next day!


	52. Wading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack wakes up on the good side of the bed for once.

“Good morning, my little playthings! Sorry for being absent yesterday - I had a little bit of an emergency to take care of. Let’s make today entertaining – and titillating – for our viewers at home!”

I woke up in a pool of my own sweat. Not a pool, but, yeah, it was pretty gross. My white t-shirt was stained with it under my pits, and my jeans smelled. Also, I was still pretty damn hot. I was not pleased.

I changed out of my clothes ASAP, in the bathroom of course, wiped the sweat off my face, rinsed it in the sink, and changed into new clothes, a pair of black jeans, which were my last pair so I should probably do some laundry soon, and I also had on a black t-shirt for Comic Book Murder Club, one that featured a zombie hand emerging from the dirt in front of a grave and holding a blood-stained origami crane made out of a comic book panel. It was really bitching, honestly.

I stretched after I got out of the bathroom, thinking about last night. I guess Rebecca was right about me falling asleep. I felt refreshed right now, though, like, I actually spent a good while sleeping, so I didn’t feel like it was going to happen again.

The hallway outside was hot. Everywhere was hot. I think the handle on my door burned my fingers a little bit when I turned it. I started to feel beads of sweat on my forehead. This wasn’t good, but I didn’t feel like I was about to pass out or anything.

I walked down the hallway until someone shouted “Hey, Jack!” at me. Either Weston or Nancy, maybe Sarah, and when I looked around, I saw Weston standing in the little corner where the stairwell was, walking towards me. He had on a sleeveless shirt that still managed to look expensive for such a trailer-trash kind of clothing, along with some pants that could only be described as ‘skinny jean shorts’. “Why, hello there! I was wondering where you were yesterday.”

“Asleep.” I said, since it was the truth.

“Really? I was mostly in the T.V. room lounging, but I guess it didn’t matter much if you were sleeping in your room all day.”

“Uh…yeah. Yeah.” I lied. I didn’t feel bad about it.

“Well, how do you feel now? Refreshed? Awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Both of those?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay!” Weston beamed.

I stretched my neck, not sure what else to say.

“Well, a lot of people were concerned about you. We should probably head down to the dining room and show everyone you’re alright.”

Yeah, that wasn’t the first time I heard that. “Okay.” I said, rolling my eyes internally, but I think Weston would begin crying or something if I did that.

“Well, I’ll see you down there.”

He left without me,  walking to the door and entering it. I followed him, went downstairs, opened the door, looked around in the hallway, and walked over to the dining room.

I was roughly in the middle of who was here, like, I wasn’t first, I wasn’t last, and there were already, like, 5 people. I sat in my chair, not sure if people were staring at me or not.

“So there you are!” Gordon said, pretty happy to see me for some reason. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

Sarah was leaning back in her chair, her tennis-shoe-covered feet on the table. “You didn’t want to.”

“Why?” Gordon looked at me. “Where was he?”

“Passed out in Russell’s arms.” Sarah said, smiling at me.

Gordon smiled, though his face seemed a bit worried otherwise, and he kind of scoffed at me. “Really? Did you knock yourself out?”

“No…no, I just kind of passed out. I was tired.”

He nodded.

Pretty much everyone was in here by now, minus Franklin, of course, all in less clothing than normal, except for Russell, who was wearing a normal-for-him sleeveless jersey, J.J., who had on a white wifebeater that kind of showed off the straps from a bra that seemed thicker than normal (maybe it was one of those sports bras that I saw advertised on T.V. so long ago? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.), and Caroline, who was still wearing a grey-ish sweater that blended with her platinum hair.

“Christ, aren’t you hot?” I asked Caroline while rubbing my own head, feeling some sweat beginning to form.

“Hm? Me?” Caroline shook her head. “I don’t sweat.”

“You have to be boiling hot, aren’t you?” Russell asked, scratching his neck. “Where are you from? North Caronlina? It can’t be hot enough for you to wear stuff like that regularaly.”

Caroline sighed. “I’m from Utah. Around 30 percent of it is desert. I’m used to it.”

“I’m not used to it…” Nancy pouted. She was wearing what I guess she wore yesterday, I think, I wasn’t sure if I could remember it accurately. I hoped she washed it, at least. “I like cold stuff. This isn’t cold…”

“Have some water.” Sarah suggested. She was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. It was kind of weird, seeing her without a lot of layers. I guess I wasn’t used to seeing so much of her skin.

“How much do we have left?” Nancy asked.

Everyone gave conflicting answers.

“That doesn’t help…” Nancy sighed.

Edwin was fanning himself, breathing heavily. He was still wearing a striped polo. Doesn’t he have any better clothes? I guess Oregon isn’t that hot. “Shit, shit, shit, come on, let’s just do something, alright?”

“Like what?” I asked.

J.J. was almost dying. At least, that’s what it looked like. Her skin was fairly drenched with sweat, like all of her water inside on her was outside her, or something like that. “Get…just…like…”

Caroline was drumming her fingers on the table for some reason, and it bothered me, though I didn’t speak up about that, but it did make me angry with a lot of things, so…

“Well, how about, instead of complaining, we do the thing we were _planning_ to do when it got too hot, huh?” I said, rolling my eyes, though I didn’t mean to.

“What’s that?” Nancy asked.

“Well, uh…” Weston smiled a bit awkwardly. “I did mention the pool as being a possible, if temporary, solution for this heat…”

“Yeah, that.” I agreed.

“I’ve been in the pool since the heat kicked on, though I didn’t go in, since, I mean, I didn’t know if it would be hot.” Russell said. He didn’t seem to be affected by the heat at all. I guess being an athlete does that.

“Worth a shot, though,” Gordon shrugged. His hair was messier than normal - I guess he hasn’t been messing with it with product since the heat wave. Honestly? I liked him better with the messy hair. But whatever. He got up, and stretched. “I’ll go get my swimsuit on.”

Sarah grunted. “We’re _seriously_ doing this?”

Russell shrugged. “I guess so.”

“I’m not!” Nancy pouted again, her teeth grit and her arms crossed.

I sighed. “Have fun dying of heatstroke.” I guess that was probably to mean, but whatever.

Nancy did a little unpleasant sound.

Rebecca rubbed her eyes, in the way that said she was tired of me.“Jack, she doesn’t have to swim if she doesn’t want to.”

Nancy nodded quickly. “Yeah!”

“Alright, yeah, that’s fine…” I said, standing up. “Sorry.” I tried to sound apologetic, because I was.

“That aside…let’s just, like, go to the pool soon. Like, this afternoon, or in an hour, or whatever, or – how about you just go slap on your fuckin’ swimsuits or whatever and head straight there – I am fucking dying right now, holy shit…” Edwin quickly said, like he was trying to say every word at once or something.

“I guess…” Sarah exhaled out.

I nodded at nothing, a bit happy that I actually had a goal – like, something to do, something to think about, something that didn’t involve death, and I exited the dining room, maybe a little bit confident, but mostly happy.

* * *

My first stop was the closet or clothing room or whatever. I wasn’t about to put on that little swimsuit to show off my junk, and I did want to swim, so I needed something to wear. I headed straight to the room, getting this feeling that someone was watching me, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw a few people, but none of them seemed dangerous, so I kept walking, not sure what exactly my criteria for ‘dangerous’ was, but, like, I don’t think Caroline would get up to any shit.

I walked into the clothing room as cool as someone who was looking for a swimsuit could, and went to that rack inside the literal closet where I first saw the swimsuits, trying not to remember where I first found them. I went through the swimsuits on the rack - two rows of them. The girl's ones were...scraps. Pretty much. Lines of some thin rubbery material that looked awkward to wear. Christ, do people really wear this shit? The guy's selection was a lot better - trunks and the occasional budgie smuggler. I found one that was a pale grey pair of trunks with this really faint pattern of skulls. Wicked, if a bit, well...typical of me to wear.

"That is...shameful..." I heard Caroline say, and I saw an arm covered in a purple fabric shoot out from the corner of my vision.

"What? My choice?" I asked, holding the hanger that the swimsuit was on close to my chest.

"No...this..." she said, sighing, pulling out a pink one-piece that had a bunch of triangular holes in the chest, something that looked like I could tear through it if I swept my hand down really quick. "This isn't a swimsuit, it's...a...hm..." she put it back, and put a hand to her chin.

I nodded. "Hope you find one you like." I said, trying to end the conversation quickly, and I exited the room, passing by one or two people, and headed straight for the bathroom by the trial elevator room with the dented metal door and god I hated it but don't think about that

The bathroom was standard. White tile, white walls, mirrors, sinks, stalls in the far left side of the wall, urinals on the right. I guess it was good that there were urinals. I didn't look to see the sign on the door, so I might've accidentally walked in on the girl's. I headed into one of the red plastic stalls, took off my pants, my underwear, which is pretty much all I'm going to describe, and slid on the trunks, pulling the draw string shut, and stretching a bit to make sure they stuck. They felt nice and comfortable and easy to wear, plus the air got to my, er, groin better than the skinny jeans would let it, and it felt really cool and good and like I said that's all I'm going to say about it.

I walked out, my I.D. and my knife in the pockets of the trunks, and my black jeans slung over my shoulder. I still felt hot, of course, and it felt like I was walking through walls of moisture whenever I walked, but felt better now that I was more aerated. I looked around the T-Hallway, the bottom portion of it, and I heard the girl's bathroom open up, and Sarah walked out. She was wearing that grey swimsuit she was talking about yesterday, which was one of the few things about yesterday that I felt good about remembering, with a grey thin coat over it and her guitar strapped to her back, like normal.

She looked me over, though she was trying to be subtle about it. I don't think she was trying to be subtle about it because she was attracted to me, though. I don't think so, anyway. She didn't seem to be that way, I guess. I don't know. "You look nice. I like the shirt." she said, looking at my face.

"Thanks. I thought you didn't like Comic Book Murder Club."

"They have good merch. And, uh, I mean, if you don't mind their lyrics, they pretty much pioneered the use of chiptunes and synth in garage and indie rock."

I nodded, though I didn't know what that meant. "Thanks. And, uh, you look good, too." I said, looking at her clothes like she did with me, mainly just to return the favor, and to add meaning to what I said, but I didn't do it nearly as long.

She looked away, suddenly twisting and turning her guitar strap with both hands. I think I saw a bit of red on her cheeks. Shit. "Let's go." Sarah quickly said, stepping away and walking to the door that lead to the pool hallway, so I followed her. God damnit, why did I have to make her embarrassed? Was that why she blushed? Shit, I was never good at this emotions stuff. 

We walked in silence to the pool room. I wondered if trying to get a better look at her face just to assess the damage, I don't know, is that a creepy thing to do? It seemed like something a stalker would do, like, looking at her face more, but I don't...I'm not a stalker. Whatever. Just let it lie. You fucked up, you said the wrong thing. Don't live in the past. That's what my mom kept telling me whenever I fucked up at school and said or did the wrong thing and ended up in the principal's office. You screwed up, but don't look back on it and feel sorry for yourself. Just keep moving forward. I got so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice that we were at the pool until Sarah poked me in the shoulder. 

"Don't fall asleep again." she said, a bit jokingly.

"I won't."

I walked over and put my skinny jeans on one of the tables, and, now that I think about it, I should probably take out my knife and stuff and put that somewhere. Sarah followed, took her I.D. out of her breast pocket, as in, the pocket on her chest on her jacket, not...nevermind, and put it far away from mine.

"I guess we're waiting for everybody."

"I guess."

So we waited.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAA LATE POST  
> But I have a good reason! I am pretty much swamped with projects - I have a school writing assignment, a scholarship, and a panel presentation to work on all at once. So I'm definitely going to be switching to a 'when it's done' format. Not to sound like 'oh i need the stats to look good', but now's going to be the time to bookmark this thing. I'll try to keep the updates fairly consistent, on Friday evenings, and I'll really try to make once-a-week, but if there's no post one week - well, you'll know why.


	53. Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone has a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I updated the last chapter with some stuff! Read the few paragraphs under the dividing line before this one!

Me and Sarah sat by the pool for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure why she was wearing her grey swimsuit with only a jacket for cover, too be honest. I mean, she didn’t seem to like the idea of revealing herself, but now she was going around with her legs on full display. Not that it bothered me, or that I was, like, turned on by it, but…whatever. Fuck it, I didn’t know what I was going to say anyway.

“Do you want to get in?” I asked her.

She shook her head, rubbing her hand on the guitar case that laid by her side. She had taken it off before we sat down. “We should wait for everyone else.”

“Okay.”

She tugged at the strap on her swimsuit a little bit. It seemed like it was too awkward for her or something. She was looking into the water, and then she sighed. “Do you really think I look good?”

“What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Dumb question.”

“No, like…you look nice. You look…you have a pretty good style going for you,” I said, beginning to talk out of my ass. “You wear a lot of layers, right? I mean, it, like, it shows where you’re from. Isn’t Washington really rainy?”

She shrugged. “It’s more like, half of it is rainy, half of it is a tundra.”

“Yeah, so if you wear a lot of layers, people are able to know where you’re from without you saying anything.”

“Yeah. I guess. They know that I either live where it’s cold or that I’m from, like, Hipstertopolis.” She smiled at her own little joke.

 “That too.”

“I…I mean…” she began. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to hear whatever she was about to say. “I wear layers to…I have, like, an L-frame. Not an hourglass. It’s like a lowercase ‘L’, really. I just have nothing anywhere on my body, right? That’s why I wear so many layers. To make it look like I’m not anorexic. Which, I mean, I’m not, but…do I look anorexic? Like, I have a disorder or something?”

I sat there frozen for a second, not really sure what to say.

“Whatever, nevermind.” She went back to looking at the water.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“No, I don’t know why I even started talking about my body. Hell, if-“

The door opened, and we both turned to look at it. I wanted to get the fuck out of that conversation, so I was thanking God for having it happen, though I don’t think he was listening nowadays. Caroline walked in, wearing a pair of short jean…shorts, I guess, a white t-shirt with some sort of church stuff on it, and I think I could see the outline of a black bikini top underneath. Does looking at that make me a pervert? I mean, it wasn’t hard to see, but…whatever. I mean, it is kind of weird to notice that, so I guess I’m a pervert, though I don’t feel like one. Her hair was undone, and she was carrying a bundle of white towels under her shoulder, and in her other hand was a book, one with a weird blood-colored cover and spine.

“Hello,” Caroline said, walking over to one of the chairs by the tables, and placing her things on it. “Are you two in the middle of something?”

“No.” I immediately said. “Why?”

“You’re sitting together, and she looks like she wants to strangle you.”

I looked at Sarah. She did look really pissed, but when I stared at her face for more than a second, she relaxed and sighed. “We’re just passing the time.”

“You don’t have to wait too much longer. There was a crowd behind me. I guess the two of you were just too eager to get wet.” Caroline smiled like she was suppressing a laugh, sitting in the chair and stretching a little bit backwards. She looked happy.

Sarah traced circles in her thigh. God damn, I really am stupid when it comes to girls, aren’t I? Oh well. Just fix it later.

I thought about what to say. Should I say anything? Fuck. She doesn’t look happy. Maybe she’s just bored? I tried reading her face, but her head was angled in that way that made her red hair cover up her face like a set of curtains. I sat there, trying to make out what her eyes looked like, you know, like a douche or a creepy perv or something, and when the door opened again, I sighed in relief, again, probably like one of those idiot freshman at my school who just wanted chicks or someone who really wanted to get in someone’s pants, and I looked behind me.

Pretty much everyone was there, walking in two or three at a time, most of them carrying shirts and pants or towels or something. It’d be too awkward to seamlessly say what everyone was wearing, so here’s a list.

  * Nancy was wearing some sort of dark blue competition one-piece swimsuit with a bunch of white lines and fancy shit all over it. Her hair was undone and tied behind her in a single ponytail. She immediately bounced over to Sarah and began talking. I scooted away since I guess I wasn’t welcome there anymore.
  * Edwin had on a pair of big black swimming trunks with a black t-shirt over it. He walked in, looked at the pool, and shook his head, mumbling that it wouldn’t work.
  * Russell and Weston were both wearing the standard C.N.A. swimsuit. It looked good on them, I guess.
  * J.J. had on a plaid bikini. It was fairly okay. She cautiously went over to the water and dipped her toe in, then shrugged.
  * Rebecca had on the standard one-piece C.N.A. gave us with a pair of red loose fabric shorts under it. She walked over to me and gave me a look-over.



“You look nice.” She said, kneeling down so she was on my level.

“Thanks. You too.”

She nodded. “I know.”

The door opened again, and

  * Gordon came in, wearing a bright pink floral pair of swimming trunks. I guess that’s what was expected of him.



I stood up and stretched a little bit. Rebecca stretched, too.

“Is that everyone?” Russell asked.

Gordon pointed his finger towards everyone, one at a time, saying words under his breath, before nodding. “Yeah, ‘cept for, uh...you know.”

We all walked towards the steps on the other side of the pool from the rightmost door, except for Caroline, who seemed to like her book.

“Who’s goin’ in first?” J.J. asked.

I began walking the length of the pool.

“I mean, I’m not sure,” Gordon put his finger to his chin. “Someone’s gonna have to volunteer.”

I kneeled down to look at the water, making sure I was in the deep end.

“What if it’s too hot for humans? I mean, someone’s gonna have to save them…” Sarah said, a little bit worried.

I began taking off my t-shirt and threw it to the side.

“I mean, I don’t think it’d get too hot for humans, but it might scald a little bit.” Gordon nodded. “Someone’s going in first, though. I don’t want to have worn my swimsuit for nothing.”

I felt my blood pumping through my neck. I walked a little bit backwards.

“This is stupid. There’s no way the water could be cool.” Edwin said.

**“CANNONBALL, MOTHERFUCKE-!”**

I felt the cold water cover my skin as I plunged into the water. The bubbles forming across my flesh. The sound of something big and heavy hitting the water and making a big splash. My toes touched the cold porcelain tile, and I opened up my eyes and saw water, still rippling and bouncing and making waves, and there was a small amount of stinging in my eye flesh, but I could tolerate it, and I’ve been through worse. I puffed out my cheeks, holding in my breath, and started swimming upwards, my head breaking the surface of the water, the somehow cool air feeling excellent on my damp skin, and I looked towards where everyone was standing. They looked happy or surprised.

“What?” I said towards the surprised people.

Sarah grit her teeth. “God dammit, Jack, you got me wet all the way over here!”

Caroline started cracking up.

“What?” Sarah grunted out.

Caroline waved her hand as she kept giggling to herself, like she was trying to get people to not see her or something.

I rubbed my eyes. The stinging was still a small annoyance. I swam over to the side of the pool, keeping myself afloat in the water. “It’s fine, you guys. It’s great!” I felt energized and happy and holy _shit_ I want to do this every day from now on.

J.J. walked to the over side of the pool and got a running start before she cannonballed in to. The waves hit me like a truck or something like that, but it still felt _great,_ the water crashing against my skin, and the cold reaching the flesh underneath and rattling my bones. She surfaced after a few seconds, breathing for air, drops of water clinging to her hair, straightening it out and making it cling to her neck, and there was light reflecting off of the thousand beads of water against her skin. She started rubbing her eyes, then pumping her fists in the air. “HELL YEAH!” She went over to high-five me, and I slammed my hand against hers hard enough for both of us to sting.

Nancy gingerly stepped into the pool using the stairs into in on their side, then did a short little hop into it, kind of diving but not really. The others followed suit. Edwin took off his t-shirt and sat on the side of the pool for a few seconds before hopping forward into it, and Sarah took off her jacket, sighed, and walked down the stairs before awkwardly standing in the water. Rebecca slid off her shorts and jumped in without any hesitation.

“Sarah! I’ll race you to that end!” Nancy shouted, already ready to fucking bolt to the far other end of the swimming pool.

Sarah shook her head. “I’m good.” She said, a little bit unsure.

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” J.J. said, turning to me. We were both sort of floating in the deep end of the pool – Christ, I think it was like 8 or 9 feet deep. “Let’s race.”

“To where?” I asked. The pool room quickly grew with the sound of talking voices. Well, the same nine or so voices, but still talking voices.

“Down. You let yourself sink, and the person who reaches back up is the winner.”

“Sounds fun.” I said, trying not to think of how I could get hurt.

“Ready? One, two, three…” she said, before we both curled up into balls and began sinking to the bottom. I had my eyes closed, but I could feel the tiles scrape against my toenails, which shook me out of my curled-up position, and I looked upwards, bearing through the stinging again, jumping up with both feet and pushing the water out of the way as I swam with all my might towards the bars of light that shone down through the water, and finally I felt the water give way and I burst my head through the top, looking around, and seeing J.J.’s water-soaked hair whirl around and get me wet.

“Who won?” she asked, her voice filled with little gasps for air, which is probably why she isn’t doing that accent right now.

I looked around. Nobody was looking at us. “Shit.” I grunted.

“It’s nothing! Relax, buddy.” she said fairly happily. Honestly, her voice without the accent was pretty nice, New England-y and smooth. I probably shouldn’t say that to her, though. I’ve already made one person mad today.

I nodded, smiling a little bit. Was I tense? Whatever.

I looked over and saw a body floating. One wearing a blue swimsuit. Rebecca. I wasn’t concerned, though. She was face-up and breathing.

“What are you doing?” J.J. asked, still without an accent.

“Relaxing.” Rebecca answered.

“Relaxing? Like that?” I said back, poking her side, trying to call attention to the fact that she looked ridiculous lying in water like that. It felt rubbery. I guess that’s what her swimsuit felt like. Don’t know why I had to remark on that.

“It’s…like…you’re lying in bed, but there’s  Rebecca sighed. “At least I’m not trying to drown myself.”

“Hey!” J.J. shouted. “We were racing!”

“Yeah!” I shouted too. I didn’t know why.

“Whatever the two of you say.” She did another relaxed sigh.

“Come on, let’s go to everyone else.” J.J. tugged on my shoulder a little bit. I nodded, waved goodbye to Rebecca, though I don’t think she saw it, and swam over with her to the short side of the pool where everyone else was. Well, Russell was over on the deep end, but he was doing laps, so it didn’t count. We passed by Gordon with Nancy on his back, playfully telling her that he was going to drop her into the deep end, while Nancy kept giggling, like she couldn’t make words, and Sarah was slowly treading through the water after Gordon until it was to the bottom of her chest, and then she turned around and headed back while looking back at Gordon and Nancy playing.

“Is everything alright, Sarah?” Weston asked. He was wading towards her.

“Yeah. Yeah.” She immediately said back.

J.J. looked weirdly at Sarah, then started rubbing the back of her neck, then fell backwards into the water. It looked like she did it on purpose. “Man, this feels great!”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Sarah said really sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Man! This feels great.”

Edwin was sitting on the top of the floor, his feet dipping into the pool. “Come on, dude, lighten up.”

“I’m alright. I’m happy.” Sarah said. Her arms were crossed.

Edwin nodded, let a second pass, then kicked a large amount of water at Sarah with both feet, whose mouth turned into a big O, and her eyes went wide, and her arms came undone and became something that kind of looked like T-Rex or velociraptor claws in front of her. Her hair was dripping with water and her skin was absolutely soaked. Suddenly, she grit her teeth in a sort of smile, then shoved her hands down into the water and thrust her hands upwards, creating this big wave of water that must’ve gotten like two or three feet off of the surface of the pool and hitting Edwin straight in the chest.

“That’s all you have?” he asked, jokingly, with this shit-eating grin on his face. He then outstretched his hand like he was about to do something nasty, but Sarah shot out her arm, grabbed Edwin’s hand, and pulled back downward, and Edwin made the best ‘oh fuck’ face I’ve seen as he fell straight into the water and created another huge splash that almost knocked me and Weston over, though he pretty much fell right into Sarah. She didn’t look happy with it – or, at least, I don’t think anyone would be happy with some kid falling on you, so when Edwin surfaced she knocked him on the head hard enough for him to wince and rub his head. “Fuck, I should’ve grabbed something on t-“

“DON’T EVEN.” Sarah said, holding her fist high .

“Eh, whatever. That was a good move, though. I should’ve seen it coming.”

“It’s fine, Eddy.” Weston said, patting Edwin on the head.

Edwin visibly cringed. “Don’t…call me that.”

Weston’s smile disappeared, and he brought his hand from Edwin’s head. “I’m sorry.”

Edwin waved his hand, and we all moved away to let Russell pass. I looked up and saw Rebecca and Caroline talking by the table, then Caroline got up and left.

“Man…I could spend all day like this…” J.J. softly said, still not using her accent, her head barely above water.

“It does…yeah, it’s okay.” Sarah mumbled out again. She looked out towards Gordon and Nancy, and I did too. They were still playing together, splashing each other in the water.

“If only we had some music…” Weston exhaled.

Sarah made a little ‘hmm’ noise.

 “I mean, there’s usually a soundtrack to pool scenes, isn’t there? Some sort of light, bouncy thing.”

Edwin sighed, then waded between me and Sarah and started swimming to the far end of the pool.

“Are you trying to make me play something?” Sarah asked, her arms crossed again.

Weston shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

Sarah sighed. “I’m not sure…I-I mean, I don’t know if anything in my repertoire would be fitting for this kind of thing…like, I sing about the apocalypse and rivers turning to blood and drunken dads and…just stuff that I don’t think is fit for, like, a pool party.”

Weston nodded.

I head the sound of something coming out of the water, so I looked behind me and saw Russell climbing out of the water, using the ladder in the deep end. He walked over to the table where Rebecca was sitting, talked to her a little bit, dried himself off with a towel, and sat down in a chair to her side.

“Jack?” someone said. I turned my head. Weston.

“Yeah?”

“Are you…you were staring into space for a second, dude.” Sarah said, her voice kind of concerned, kind of annoyed.

“Huh? Oh, uh…yeah.”

Sarah sighed. “You’re still not awake, are you? Swim a little bit.”

“Yeah…uh…” I scratched the back of my neck, you know, what teenagers do when they’re uncomfortable. “I guess I could. I don’t think…like, I’m don’t really like standing around in, uh, waist-deep water.”

“Go ahead, man.” Sarah waved her hand. I nodded, turned around quickly, making the water kind of whirl, and I started walking to the other side of the pool until I could feel the water rising and the tiled floor slanting under my feet, and I started swimming until I reached the far side of the pool, past Edwin, and past Gordon and Nancy who were returning to the end of the pool with Sarah and Weston.

When I got to the far end of the pool, I stopped, hung onto the side of the pool, caught my breath for a moment, looked around, looked up at Russell and Rebecca. Caroline still wasn’t back. Rebecca waved. I waved back. I felt a sinking feeling in my chest, which wasn’t a good thing to feel in a pool.

I hung on the side of the pool, propped my feet up against the wall, and pushed myself off, pushing myself through the water with my arms, and stroking back to the deep end, turning around, swimming back and forth for a couple of laps straight down the middle of the pool, pausing to catch my breath at either end for a few seconds. My fifth or six or whatever time around, I looked up. Russell had just stood up, shook his head for a second, then made his way towards the door of the pool room.

“What’s he in a huff about?” Weston asked nobody.

Sarah made a ‘huh’ sound.

“Where’s he going? He looked mad.”

 Sarah shrugged. “Beats me.”

I dipped my hand under the water for a second, brought it back up, shook it, and tried to get rid of this weird negative feeling I had. I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t like it, then I took a deep breath. Was I feeling bad? I don’t know. I was happy that I was here. I was happy that I was able to relax. But my back was kind of tensing up, like I was stressed. I guess that’s where I’m getting this feeling. I felt fine otherwise. I nodded to myself, exhaling, then started going back at my lap thing, which was making me feel pretty awake, honestly. Not that I was already awake.

I kept swimming for a couple of times. J.J. joined me for some of it, I guess she was trying to compete with me. She was better at it than I was. I guess that’s because she’s from a coastal state. I think her state was coastal, anyway. What state was she from? Fuck, I don’t know.

After, like, five more minutes of swimming, I felt really tired – like, really tired. I went back over to where Weston and Sarah were standing, nodded, then did a big exhale, flop over onto the side of the pool, resting my arms on the floor, closing my eyes for a second.

Then there was a bang.

Bangs weren’t supposed to happen in pools.

There were gasps, a scream, and I looked behind me, maybe a little bit afraid.

Russell was standing there, carrying Caroline in his hands. She was limp, her glasses broken, her head resting on his shoulder, with half of her face and some of her hair slick with streaking blood, and some of it staining her shirt and some of it dripping down onto the floor.

“GORDON!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I missed last week, but I have a good reason - I was completely sick, and I wasn't able to get, like, anything done other than coughing and sneezing and other sick stuff. I had to work overtime to catch up and get this chapter done this week. Thankfully, I have a good idea on what I want to do with the next few chapters, so there won't be any writers block for a while.  
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I'm beginning to think that a lot of these fun moments end in really bad scenes - oh well, my fault. I'll try to avoid that in the future.


	54. Seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone has an interesting experience.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Gordon shot out of the water, pulling himself out using the walls of the pool, then racing over to where Russell was, still holding the limp and dripping body of Caroline. He ran over, feeling her neck, and visibly became relieved. Pretty much everyone was gasping, getting out of the water, rushing over to her.

“What happened? Where did you find her?” Gordon asked, looking over her head. “Wait, no, wait, we can’t wait around. Get her to the – the – the room, on the other side of the hallway, the infirmary. “

Russell nodded, then tried to carefully run over to the door, awkwardly opened it, and walked through. Gordon hurried over to the table with everything on it, quickly drying off his head and the rest of his body with a towel, shoving on a grey t-shirt, and shaking his head really quick.

“Is she okay? Is she alive?” Rebecca said, her face concerned, almost afraid.

“Yeah, yeah, she was breathing. Might be unconscious. Probably lost a lot of blood.” Gordon put his hands on the table, looking down, muttering something under his breath, then heading out of the room.

I walked over to Rebecca, the fast minute feeling somehow faster. “Where did she go?”

Rebecca put a hand to her head, running it through her hair. “She was going to get hair dye for me. To see if she had anything I liked. And then…”

“It’s not your fault.” J.J. tried to reassure her.

“I know it’s not, but…we have to go see her.” Rebecca left without saying another word, reaching out and grabbing the red pair of shorts on the table, along with her I.D., and put the shorts back on as quick as she could while exiting. I looked at J.J., shrugged, and walked over to the side of the pool that I threw my t-shirt near, grabbed it, put it on, then walked towards the hallway, immediately regretted not drying myself off with a towel, feeling the wet fabric cling to my torso, sighed. By the time I got to the door, most everyone was cleaning themselves with the towels they brought as quick as they could, putting on whatever clothes they had and grabbing whatever they brought in.

I walked straight through the hallway, going into the infirmary right away. Inside was Russell, standing there, looking as angry as I’ve ever seen him, Rebecca listening to whatever Russell was saying with her arms crossed, Gordon washing his hands, and Caroline lying on the bed, her arms at her sides, still bleeding.

“He was standing there, hunched over her, this weird look on his face, and she was lying there in a puddle of blood, bunch of boxes of something around her, and her leg was bent weird,” Russell said in this horribly angry tone of voice, pacing the side of the bed. “He did it, there’s no doubt about it.”

I didn’t get the full story, so I asked for clarification. “What?”

Russell grit his teeth, exhaling a bit. “So I went to go find Caroline, right? Because you said that she’d been gone for a while on some trivial thing,” he pointed to Rebecca. “And I looked all over for her, and I went to the stairwell, and…she was laying there, in a puddle of her own damn blood, and Franklin was looking at her, looked like he was about to…God!” Russell threw up his arms, then made his way towards the door. “He pushed her down the stairs, he wanted to off her. I’m going to find that son of a bitch and make him…”

“Russell! Don’t you-” Rebecca shouted, but by the time the words left her lips, he was gone.

Gordon quickly turned around, putting a pair of rubber gloves on, with a piece of some white fabric in his hands, then walked over to Caroline, deeply exhaling.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

“Let me clean it first,” he said softly. His tone of voice was a lot different than what it was – more serious, less, like, joyful. He carefully took off her busted glasses, setting it on the table on the right side of the  bed, then started wiping the blood off of her face with the white fabric – I guess it was gauze – and then cleaned her hair, looking at her scalp while he did it. After he was finished, he looked around the room for something, found a red bin thing in one of the cabinets near the floor, dropping the soaked red gauze into it, and sighed. By the time he was finished, J.J., Sarah, Nancy, and Weston had entered the infirmary. “The wound’s…she has a gash on her head. It’s pretty deep, maybe’s broken bone, I’m not sure…”

Caroline made a small little mumble, then turned on her side.

Gordon cursed under his breath. “Now’s not a good time to be waking up.” He said, though I don’t think she heard, and then tried to reposition her head back up, went over to a cabinet, opened it, grabbed something - a roll of guaze, tore off a long piece, and walked back over to Caroline.

“What can you do?” I asked.

Nancy looked at Caroline’s body – well, not her body, she wasn’t dead, but…I don’t know, and then she looked at Gordon. “Can we help?”

Gordon sighed. “No, no, I just…I need to get force on this thing, then I might have to give her stitches, and…shit, alright.” he chewed a little bit of his lip, then placed the gauze on the wound, his arm becoming stiff.

“What happened, exactly?” J.J.’s seemed curious, but in a negative way. I think. I guess.

“I…I asked her to get some hair dye for me, because she…she went upstairs, to grab some from her room, and she was gone for a while, and…” Rebecca looked at Caroline, at Gordon with his gauze. “Russell went to find her, and she was lying on the floor of the stairwell, in a puddle of blood, and Franklin was standing over her…”

“Wait, so Franklin pushed her down the stairs?!” Sarah exclaimed, pulling her jacket around her body tight.

“I…I don’t think so. Why would he…well, there’s quite a lot of reasons why he would target her…” Rebecca sighed. “But I don’t see how he could do it.”

I shook my head, scratching the back of my neck. “But I don’t think someone could, like, trip down those stairs. Caroline doesn’t seem clumsy.”

J.J. crossed her arms, looking at me. “Haven’t you noticed how steep those stairs are?”

“No?”

“I mean, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.” She sighed, shaking her head, rubbing the back of her neck. She still wasn’t using her accent.

“Look, guys, I’m not trying to be a…” Gordon said, still in that soft tone of voice. “I just need some privacy right now. I’m gonna have to…stitch up her wound, and it won’t be pleasant.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” I said, going towards the door. Everyone else agreed, one person said they were sorry, and we all kind of left.

Edwin was on the other side of the door, pacing the hallway. “How is she?” he asked, his hands in his swimming trunk pockets. “What happened, anyway?”

Rebecca told the story again.

“So he pushed her, right?” Edwin scratched his chin. There was some small black hairs sticking out.

Sarah looked at the ground, still holding her jacket tight around her.“Maybe…we don’t know.”

Edwin had this look of concern on his face. I didn’t expect to see something like that. “So what’s going on now?”

“Well, uh…” J.J. started pacing around, her arms crossed, and started rolling her head around on her neck, like my friend Lucy did when she got tensed up. “She had gashed her head open really bad, so Gordon’s gonna have to stitch it up.”

Edwin nodded, then did a half-hearted point to J.J.. “You sound different.”

J.J. shrugged, still wandering around the hallway. “Using that accent all the time is kind of tiring, honestly. And, I mean, I don’t like trying to fool people nowadays…” there was a long sigh. Even her sighing sounded different without her accent. “This is me. Get used to it.”

“I think you sound beautiful, Joanne.” Weston smiled, his hands in front of him, like he was a groom or something.

J.J. looked at him weird. “Thanks.”

“So we’re just waiting around? For Gordon to finish?” Edwin sighed.

Nancy started making her way towards the door. “I wanna change out of this swimsuit first.”

Sarah nodded, and started following her. “I really want to get out of this thing.”

The two of them left, leaving Weston, J.J., Rebecca, and me standing there.

“How long will it take?” Edwin asked, putting his hands in the pocket of his trunks, still looking downward.

“Dunno.” I shrugged.

Edwin started wandering around the hallway.

Rebecca sighed, walking away from me and J.J. “It won’t take that long. As long as she’s not writhing around.”

I looked around. Only the four of us were still here. I don’t know how long this will take, and I didn’t know what to do.

I could wait.

I had to wait.

I looked at Rebecca. She was stretching, then slowly sitting down against the wall by the door. I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat on the opposite side of the wall.

We were silent for a long while. Even Sarah and  Nancy entering again in the clothes they were wearing this morning didn’t really help us start talking. The tension was killing us. It was killing me, at least. I just wanted to listen into the door, to know that everything was going smoothly, that it’d all be alright, but…I don’t know. I just sat there, wet, miserable, anxious…terrible. I honestly half expected for Gordon to come out and say she didn’t make it or for Russell to drag down a dead Franklin or…something.

We waited for what seemed like an hour in total silence. Mostly silence. Sarah and Nancy were talking quietly, and it sounded like Sarah was trying to calm Nancy down, hugging her tight around her shoulder and pulling to Nancy to her chest. It seemed to be working. The heat didn’t help either, I could feel the sweat dripping off of my face and my back becoming wetter and wetter.

I was about to fall asleep sitting on the wall when the door opened, and Gordon was positioned inside the frame, leaning on one side.

“I’m done.”

We walked in the room, single-file. Russell was still M.I.A., so there was only the six of us. Gordon was standing cross-armed by the bed, while Caroline was lying on the bed, tuned on her side, with a massive gauze wrap around her forehead and going into her hair, and had two long metal rods attached to her right leg with gauze and tape.

Gordon silently took off the gloves, then looked at all of us. He seemed to be relieved, maybe a bit tired. “I had to give her some propofol to make sure she’d stay asleep while I sewed her up…” he said, pointing to a small pink band-aid with kittens on it on her upper arm. “She should be waking up soon. She also has an oblique – well, not a full fracture on her leg, her fibula, that’s what the splint’s for. I think that’s what the fracture is, anyway, just from what I felt.”

“So she has to use crutches from now on?” I wondered aloud, going up and down her body with my eyes, staring at the white bandages on her.

“No, I couldn’t find any crutches here when I checked this room out a while back. No walking canes, either. I did find a wheelchair, though, so…we’re going to have to use that until this thing heals.” He opened a cabinet, pulling up a collapsed black frame with black fabric everywhere. I guess that’s what a folded up wheelchair looked like.

“So what about stairs?” J.J. scratched her head, looking down at Caroline like I was.

Gordon paused. “I don’t know. I guess I can carry her up to her room. And…she’ll need a caretaker, I guess, someone to help her get dressed and…shit, I don’t know if we can do her bathroom…stuff…with what we have on hand, but, I mean, it’s not as bad as if she was paraplegic, but…aAnd that gash in her head dented her skull a little, so I don’t know how her mind’s affected, and…”

“Gordon. Relax.” Rebecca put a hand up. “We’ll figure all of this out soon. You did an excellent job. Take a break.”

Caroline made a little breathing sound, and her head turned right, resting her cheek on the pillow.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back…” Nancy interjected, walking behind everyone and heading out the door.

Gordon looked at Caroline. “I don’t know how long propofol lasts, so I think she should be waking up soon…then we can see how she is.”

“Can’t you, like, poke her?” Edwin shrugged.

“She needs her rest right now. If she wakes up soon, that’s fine, if not, we’ll let her sleep.” Gordon said, before sighing and turning his head back to look at her.

“So we’re waiting again.” I shook my head, though I guess I really didn’t mind.

“At least it’s done. At least…I did it.” Gordon nodded to himself, though his tone of voice made it clear he still wasn’t sure of it.

Rebecca smiled this sort of sweet, actually really nice smile. “You did a great job, Gordon. Really.”

The surgeon nodded again, this time slower and gentler. “Thanks.”

J.J. bit her lip a little bit. “So…should we start thinking about who has to take care of her?”

“I think that’s up to her to decide, right?” Sarah  shrugged, her arms crossed and almost leaning on a counter if it wasn’t for her guitar. “I think she’ll want a girl to help her get dressed, though. And the…other stuff.”

Caroline’s eyes twitched, then visibly relaxed.

“I think she’s coming to…” Gordon kneeled in front of the bed, his arms on the mattress. “Hey, you awake?” he said, in this gentle and thoughtful way that I previously didn’t think he was capable of making.

Caroline’s eyes tightened again, and she did a painful breath.

“Is the pain alright? I have morphine, okay?” Gordon continued, still talking in that weird tone.

“I can get the pills from my room.” I suggested.

Gordon shook his head slowly. “I have some down here.”

Caroline finally opened her eyes, her teeth tight, and she felt her face. “Glasses…” she almost whispered.

“They’re broken.” Gordon said, matching her quietness.

“How can…they…be…” she continued, feeling her forehead, then her face becoming shocked. “Why…”

“You fell down the stairs,” Gordon put a hand on Caroline’s forearm, gently guiding it back down to its position by her side. “You gashed open your head and almost broke your leg.  Russell found you, carried you here, and I managed to sew you up, and here you are.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where am I? I can’t…oh, God, I’m still here.”

Gordon sighed, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You’re still here.”

Caroline tried to move up into a sitting postion, then her face tightened up in pain.

“Don’t move too much, okay? Gordon tried to help her sit upright while, apparently, not causing her pain. “I’ll be honest, without any sort of cast, it’s going to hurt like hell for the first few days. The splint I got here was all I can do.”

Caroline looked at her leg for a few seconds, and we all heard the door open behind us, before Nancy walked in with the box of snacks that Rebecca got.

“Oh, hey! You’re awake!” Nancy exclaimed, setting the box down on the table to Caroline’s left.

“And you are….oh, oh, the Scout. Nancy…Mare…gold. Marigold.” Caroline nodded to herself.

“Okay, uh…Caroline, can you name everyone in this room? And they’re talent?” Gordon’s face became devastated.

Caroline rubbed her eyes. “I can’t…without my glasses…hm,” she closed one of her eyes, then pointed at everyone in the room. “You are Rebecca…Penn…Penn…Philantropist. Joanne…Daniels, no, no, Rochester. Jockey. Eddy…Edwin Pescatore, uh…Grandmaster, the chess one…James…Jack Guerrero, Daredevil, Sarah…Kingston, Musician – Independent Musician, and…Gordon Sandler, Surgeon.”

“That’s pretty nice.” J.J. smiled, giving a little bit of a thumbs-up.

Gordon nodded, still kneeling next to Caroline. “You got them right. That’s good,” he patted Caroline’s arm gently. “How are you feeling? In pain?”

“A little bit.” Caroline sighed, opening up her eye.

“Do you want me to give you some morphine? Painkillers?” Gordon got up and made his way to

Caroline shook her head, stretching her shoulders a little bit. “I…I think I’m good. I can deal with it.”

“Do you want some chocolate? Or water?” Nancy dug into the box, pulling out two plastic bottles with solid chunks of ice in them.

“Water would be great, thanks…” Gordon reached over for one, and Nancy put a bottle in his hand. He wiped a ton of sweat off of his forehead, banged the water bottle over the counter, then started wringing it in his hands.

Nancy began pulling out water bottles and handed one to everyone, including Caroline. She also pulled out that tin of chocolate squares from the bonfire night. Caroline motioned to Nancy for the tin, and she soon was prying the lid off, digging around the inside, picking up a square, looking at it, then eating it.

“It seems like you’re adjusting nicely.” Weston smiled, his eyes closed.

“I…I fell down a flight of stairs, and I cracked my head open and broke my leg. I have nobody to blame but myself.”

“Uhm…about that…” I scratched the back of my head. “According to Russell…he said that Franklin was standing over you when you were unconscious.”

Caroline stared at me for a second, making me feel like a dick for saying what happened. What I thought happened. I don’t know if it happened. “That’s…odd…”

Gordon sighed, still rubbing Caroline’s arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know if he pushed you down.”

“What? No. He doesn’t seem the kind of person to do…unless…hm…” She rubbed the line of gauze on her head for a second. “He…unless he had a delusion that I was out to get him…I’m not sure.”

Rebecca sighed. “Russell’s already trying to get Franklin.”

“Son of a…” Caroline suddenly lunged forward, trying to turn around in the bed. “I got to-“ she began, before she suddenly seized up in pain.

Gordon jumped forward, putting her legs and her arm back in place. “You’re not going anywhere! Sit down. Relax. We can take care of it.”

“How am I going to get around?” Caroline shot back.

Gordon sighed, pulled out the wheelchair from the cabinet, and unfolded it.

“Put me in it.” Caroline nudged towards it, putting the tin of chocolate to the side. I hope it doesn't melt. How have they not melted so far?

“What?” J.J. said, sounding confused. “Caroline, you’re not going anywhere for now.”

Caroline looked at Gordon with this face of somewhat calm fury. “Put. Me. In. It.”

Gordon started to shake his head, but sighed, digged his arms under her legs and put his other hand behind her back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he struggled a little bit to pick her up, before slowly lifting her up and moving her to the wheelchair.

“You’re not seriously…” Rebecca began.

“Yes, he _is_ seriously,” Caroline finished for her as she was being placed in the chair. “I need to stop Russell.”

“He doesn’t need stopping!” Edwin shouted. “He’s going after the asshole that pushed you down the stairs!”

“I need to keep this from escalating,” Caroline winced a bit as her leg jostled around in the chair. Gordon messed with some levers on the bottom, and one of the leg rests rose so that the leg with the splint was level with the seat, and she began manipulating the wheels so that she propelled forward in the chair, passing by all of us. “Someone open the door.”

“We can’t let you-“ J.J began, before she was cut off.

“Open the damn door.” Caroline said, frustration dripping off of every word.

I reached over her in the chair, turned the door knob, and pushed it open, and she rolled out of there without saying another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which I reveal I have no idea how operation/surgery/stitches work.)
> 
> Well, that was an interesting thing to write. A lot of dialog! My favorite! Also mad people! I like those too!


	55. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some misunderstandings are cleared up.

The eight of us – Weston, Rebecca, J.J., Gordon, Edwin, Sarah, Nancy, and I, quickly exited the infirmary. Gordon was the first out, and by the time we all left, he was catching up to Caroline, who was rolling effortlessly through the hallway.

“CAROLINE!” Rebecca shouted from where we were standing. The wheelchair-bound psychologist stopped. “Where in the hell are you going?”

I heard Caroline sigh, and then she fumbled with the wheels a little bit, turning the chair, before stopping. “I need to prevent this from escalating.”

“I don’t disagree, but…you just woke up from having your head sewed up! You need to rest!” Rebecca shouted back.

“This is more important!” Caroline was matching Rebecca’s voice.

“Come on, Caroline, just come back. We can take care of this.” Sarah pleaded. 

Caroline’s grip around the wheels tightened. “This is my choice. I know it’s…I need to do this.”

Weston did a ‘hmph’ sound, then started talking in that smooth voice. “Please, just rest for a while longer. We’ll be able to talk to Russell.”

Caroline shook her head, or, at least, her hair jostled. “You don’t know what I know. Gordon, open the door.”

Gordon did so.

“Are we going to keep trying to stop her?” I whispered to everyone else.

Rebecca grumbled to herself, then continued shouting. “Don’t you hurt?”

I heard Caroline sigh again. “Yes. My leg and my head extremely hurt, but I have to work through it.”

“Wait, you hurt?” Gordon moved in front of the door. “Get back in the infirmary. I’ll get you some – hey stop that.”

Caroline had started kicking Gordon weakly in the knee with her good leg. “Get. Out. Of. The. Way.”

“I’m not. I patched you up, I’d say I have a little bit of a right to tell you when to take a rest.”

“Caroline, you’re going to break your other leg…” Edwin sighed, holding the area between his eyes in annoyance.

“Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out…” Caroline kept repeating with every kick, until she paused and tried to back up in the chair. “What did you do?” she suddenly asked, apparently not to Gordon.

“What? Huh?” Gordon shook his head, his stance visibly relaxing. “What do you mean?”

Caroline pointed a finger to something behind Gordon, and he looked behind him, before jumping, saying something walking away from the door, and letting Russell walk in.

“What did you do?” Caroline repeated herself, sterner than before.

Russell shook his head. He was visibly sweating. Well, we all were, but he was practically drenched. His shirt was messed up, and his dreads were messed up. “I…took…”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Caroline shouted, weirdly…angry. Furious. I was scared.

“I…got him out of his room…put him in a chokehold…and I dragged him down here and...tied him up in one of the bathroom stalls.”

Caroline started kicking Russell. “HE! DIDN’T! DO! ANYTHING!”

Gordon quickly pulled Caroline’s chair from behind, all while Caroline kept trying to kick. The eight of us were slowly creeping closer while this was happening, and by the time Caroline was being pulled back we were surrounding the three of them.

“He was fucking dangerous! He…he looked like he was about to rape you o-or something! He was _dangerous_! I had to take care of him!”

Caroline had stopped kicking, her teeth grit, locks of silver hair covering her face, and she was loudly breathing. “He was _innocent_. You…he didn’t do anything. You don’t know why he was posed like that, he might’ve been trying to help me, you _brute_.”

Edwin sighed. “Look, the fucker threatened to hurt us a few days ago. He can’t be trusted.”

“Stay out of this!” Caroline pointed to him, then turned back to Russell. “Go in there, untie him, apologize, and let him go back to his room.”

I thought to myself for a second. I…I don’t know, Franklin didn’t seem like the kind of person to help someone if they’re bleeding on the floor, and…he did seem…like he wanted to hurt us. “Maybe…” I said without realizing it. “Maybe we should keep him in there.”

Rebecca and Sarah looked at me disappointedly. Why did I say that? Shit.

“We’re not going to keep someone trapped like an animal just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Caroline did a heavy exhale. “Untie him. Now.”

“Is Franklin unconscious?” Weston asked innocently.

Russell rubbed the back of his neck, looking ashamed. “No.”

Caroline sighed a breath of relief, and Weston smiled uneasily. “Maybe we can ask him about what happened?” he asked, shrugging.

I thought about asking, “Can we trust what he says?” but by the time I opened my mouth, Edwin had already said it.

“He won’t be happy,” Russell sighed, looking down. “I’m…I flew off the handle. Sorry.”

“For someone who’s an anti-bullying crusader…” Someone, I think it was Rebecca, mumbled.

“I was just…I was seeing rage, alright? I wasn’t thinking right…look, I’ll go in and apologize, and –“

“Don’t go near him,” Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “He won’t want to talk with the person that assaulted him.”

“I…alright. Alright,” Russell sighed again, then walked away into the hallway. “Sorry.”

Caroline looked down at the floor for a few seconds. “Gordon, I think…I’m ready for that morphine shot now.”

Gordon nodded, pulled Caroline’s chair away, with her in it, and started rolling her to the infirmary, leaving us to stand there, not sure what to do.

“So, one of us is going to have to…” Sarah started, before Edwin suddenly cut in.

“No. No. Fuck that, none of us are going to talk with that psycho!”

“I…I don’t know…” J.J. mumbled, her arms crossed, looking at the floor. “I wanna know if he tried to get rid of Caroline or not.”

“I don’t think he did…but him standing over her was awfully suspicious…” Rebecca said, her voice trailing off.

“Well, we'll have to ask him.” I said, shrugging, then making my way towards the door.

“Jack, where are you going?” Rebecca asked, her arms crossed.

Where was I going? Why was I doing this? Shit. “Uh...”

“Are you going to see Franklin?” Nancy asked, curiosity in her voice.

“I think so.”

“I'm coming with you.” Rebecca walked to my side.

I...“Uh...alright.”

Nancy stepped forward. “I-”

“Nope. You're not.” Sarah quickly corrected her, pulling on the back of her collar.

“Bu-”

“No. Just...no,” Sarah looked down at the floor, then at Nancy, kneeling down so their faces were at the same height, and she placed her hand on Nancy's shoulder. “Look, this could be...bad. Really bad. Franklin may be tied up, but if he has that knife with him...he could escape, and...I don't want anything bad to happen to you.”

There was a little bit of silence after Sarah said that. Nancy's face was emotionless, like she just wasn't getting it.

“Look, Nancy...it's not because you're the youngest, okay?” Sarah pat her shoulder again. “It's...I mean...”

“Rebecca and Jack are kind of risking their lives by just going,” J.J. nodded to herself, taking a bit of a step closer to the scout. “Look, we just don't want you to...”

Edwin mumbled something.

Weston smiled, apparently unsure. “Well...Nancy...”

Nancy nodded silently, her face still rigid. “I get it.”

There was a brief pause, then Rebecca began again. “Me and Jack will come back soon with a report.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, though I wasn't quite sure about how this thing would play out. “It...shouldn't be too hard.”

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and Rebecca turned around, facing the still-open door. I went ahead in front of her, and she followed me. I...honestly, I didn't want to do this, but at the same time I...did. I wanted to know if, like...if Franklin could be trusted, if this was all a big misunderstanding, if...if he was sane.

We walked silently for the minute it took for us to get to the bathrooms, and when we got to the blue and pink doors, we stood there for a second before I went and opened up the blue one.

It was still as white as I was in it what felt like a day ago, but was more like...fuck, I don't know. Rebecca looked around, her face confused, then leaned into my ear. “This is what boy's restrooms look like?”

I nodded.

“Huh.”

“You've never been in a boy's bathroom before?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.

Rebecca gave me a 'are you fucking kidding' look and shook her head, before tilting her head a bit towards the ceiling. “Franklin?”

There was a short moment of silence that felt like a minute, before there was a weak “Yes?” from what of the stalls.

I walked to the line of stalls, looking in the cracks between the doors and the dividers, before I saw one that had a color of flesh and a small red shape against the white. I messed with the door handle, opened it, and saw Franklin, no glasses, his nose bleeding, with a white button-up shirt with the color stained with a little bit of blood, black slacks, his right foot covered in a leather shoe and his left foot covered in a sock, and his arm bound with a long strip of red fabric to that aluminum bar on the side of the stall wall that, as far as I knew, didn't serve any sort of purpose.

“I hope you're not p-planning to beat me up anymore...” he giggled this weak, almost crazy giggle.

“No, dude, we just want to ask you something.” I said, kneeling down on the tile.

I heard footsteps against the tile, and Rebecca trying to suppress a gasp.

“Oh, you look quite revealing in that, Rebecca,” Franklin said, doing another weak creepy laugh. “That's not quite like you, parading around in tiny shorts and with your should-”

“Shut it.”

“What's the occasion? Looking to entice me with your feminine ways? Well, let me tell you, with a chest tha-”

“SHUT IT.” Rebecca grunted, firmer than before.

“Look, asshole, just answer our questions. We're not going to kick you in the balls or anything...” I said, trying to be diplomatic and probably failing.

“If you keep up that talk, however...” Rebecca added, and I could hear the sound of knuckles popping behind me.

“Oh, don't worry. Just tr-trying to get a rise...what can I do for you two? D-do-do you want me to espouse on my newest documentary? Ask me about my time as a homeless teenager? My family putting me on me-me on medication? Or do you just want to ask me what I want for my last meal?”

“No, look-” I began, but he just. Kept. Talking.

“Listen, I'm not sure what you Reindts are trying to get out of me, beating me half to death after luring me out of my room, but if that scintillating little number you have on, plus the fact that you presented me with the knocked-out girl - Carrie or whomever – in just jean shorts and a wet t-shirt...well, I'd say your messages have been rather direct, trying to reduce me to a knuckle-dragging boy trying to stick my wang in everything that moves – and, who knows, maybe the Reindts have told the girls here to co-”

“Holy – SHUT. IT.” Rebecca fucking _demanded_.

“I'm just stating the obvious.” He said, smug.

“You're being a fucking douche, that's what you're doing!” I shot back. Jesus Christ, did I want to throttle him.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Maybe that's what you...that's not what your goal is. Hm...” he rubbed his chin for a little bit. “Perhaps I did go too far...”

“Yeah. You did.” Rebecca sighed.

Franklin thought to himself. “What is the question you want to ask, in any case? I have a feeling it relates to my research, but...”

“No, it doesn't...” I looked around the stall for a second, trying to avoid eye contact. “Look...Russell said he found you hunched over Caroline’s body.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

Franklin rubbed his chin again. “Well, the tru-truth is...I know this doesn't go in-line with my previous theory, but I wanted to help her. When you delivered me that girl in her outfit, you missed a crucial detail – mak-making her conscious. And, well, not bleeding. So, I wanted to pick her up and try and find someone to help her, even if she was a Reindt spy. I know a fair bit about first-aid, but...I don't know how to heal something of that magnitude,” he paused , rubbing the blood under his nose, then looking at the streak it left on his hand. “Is she alright?”

“Caroline? Yeah,” I nodded. “Gordon had to stitch her up and give her a splint.”

“That's good...that's good.”

I heard some more sounds of feet against tile – one or two steps. I guess Rebecca was pacing behind me. “Well, the main question we need to ask is...” she began, her voice a bit wary. “Did you push Caroline down the stairs?”

Franklin visibly paused, apparently thinking. “Hm...when?”

“What do you mea – today. An hour ago.” She grunted out.

“I...can't remember.”

“No, you don't say 'Oh, I can't remember', you say yes or no. It's not like – it's not like you forgot your homework or some _shit_! It's whether or not you horribly injured an innocent woman!” Rebecca loudly breathed through her nose for a second. “Just tell us. Yes or no.”

“Well, I know the answer you want to hear. No.”

“You mean that?” I said, really, really trying to believe him.

Rebecca exhaled angrily. “He doesn't.”

“Maybe I do.”

Rebecca sighed, then touched my shoulder. “Come on, we're leaving?”

“You sure?” I got up, looking between her and Franklin.

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, I hope I was helpful. I mean it,” Franklin rubbed more blood from out under his nose. “I'd hate for someone to die because of what happened...can you untie me, by any chance?”

I looked at Rebecca. She shook her head. I had a feeling why.

“Uh, no. Sorry. We can't...trust you. For now.” I shrugged.

“Understandable. I am the main suspect in a 'case'. I guess I can...hm...” he looked away. He looked so pitiful right there, but...I wasn't sure if I should feel pity for him.

Rebecca tugged at my shirt sleeve, and we silently left the bathroom.

“I'm going to change out of this...thing...” she said after we closed the door, gesturing to her swimsuit.

“Yeah...” I nodded. “That was...”

“Go ahead and tell everyone what happened,” she said, going towards the stairwell door. “I'll be down in a minute or two."

I watched her leave, then headed for the still-open door to the other hallway, and seeing that most everyone was still hanging around, gathered around the doorway.

“How'd it go?” J.J. asked.

I shrugged. “He acted, like...he said he didn't do it, but he acted really creepy.”

Weston looked into the doorway. “Where's Rebecca?”

“She went to go get dressed. He made some weird comments on her swimsuit.”

“So...he's tied in there, right?” Sarah tapped her chin. “With what?”

“Some piece of fabric, like, a tie, or something.”

Edwin looked down at the floor, not saying anything.

“So...what are we going to do?” J.J. looked away, and I tried to follow her eyes to the door to the infirmary.

“We should telll Caroline that Franklin is innocent. I'm sure she'll like that.” Weston smiled, putting his arms behind his back and closing his eyes.

“I guess.” I shrugged, then made my way to the infirmary door. Everyone else followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm not one to brag about hits, but we reached a very important milestone this week: http://i.imgur.com/TvDDy71.png  
> Now, about this chapter: not a lot. Still trying to make this episode go faster over soon. It's dragging on longer than normal. Only one day left for this one to be over with! I can't wait!


	56. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are talked out.

I headed towards the infirmary ahead of everyone else, entering it a few seconds later. Inside was Caroline, lying on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest, while Gordon was leaning back against the counter.

"Is she out?" I asked, pointing to Caroline.

"No...I'm not..." Caroline quietly responded.

"She's just...relaxing. I had to give her some pain pills to help with her leg." Gordon waved his hand.

The door opened, and J.J. walked in, sort of quietly.

"Hey, uh, J.J..." Gordon started, rubbing behind his neck. "So, uh, Caroline said that she'd like for you to be her caretaker for now."

"What? Me? Why?" J.J. shook her head quickly.

"Because...you're the strongest female here...do you really think I'd trust Russell with helping to...get me dressed and carrying me up...up the stairs?"

J.J. sighed. "I...alright, fine. Will I have to help you with the bathroom?"

"No...I don't think so, anyway..."

The door opened again, and everyone else came inside, including Rebecca, now dressed in a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. I didn't like the blouse. It brought up some bad memories.

"I'm just saying, Rebecca...I thought you looked very nice in your swimsuit." Weston said in that too-nice way.

"Look, Weston, just don't talk to me about my figure or my swimsuit or my br...just...don't."

"Oh...erm, sorry."

"So, uh...Jack, Rebecca, do you want to share what Frank said?" Sarah suggested.

"Can someone get me a fan?" Caroline said, without any care towards what was going on.

"Don't got any." Gordon immediately answered.

Caroline swore under her breath.

"Uh...so..." I started, trying to answer Sarah's question. "We went to go talk to Franklin – he was tied up in one of the stalls with some kind of-"

"It was a tie." Rebecca corrected me.

"Yeah, a red tie, and his nose was bleeding..."

Caroline sighed, trying to pull herself up from the bed and into a sitting position. "What did he say?"

"Well, first he started by complimenting my...nevermind, but he hypothesized that the reason you were lying on the floor in your clothing was the...oh, what's their name...the 'Reindts' were trying to tempt Franklin with you...though he did mention that the fact that you were bleeding out of your skull killed his mood." Rebecca shook her head while trying to remember everything.

"Yes! That means he didn't push me down!" Caroline said excitedly. It was like all of her pain was suddenly gone.

"Well...uh..." I began, before Caroline interjected.

"No, he's innocent. I'd remember him doing anything."

"You didn't even know you fell down the stairs..." Edwin muttered.

"The thing is..." I started again. "We asked him if he _did_ push you down the stairs, and he said he couldn't remember."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Caronline crossed her arms. "I would've felt if someone pushed my back. Just because he 'doesn't remember' means he did it."

"He didn't have to push you down..." J.J. looked upwards, like she was trying to look up into her brain to remember something, while feeling the back of her neck and wiping it. The sweat was pretty noticeable on her skin, probably because most of it was showing. I probably shouldn't note that, but whatever. "He just had to upset your balance. Believe me, there's a lot of mean jockeys that do that. He could kick out your leg, or even just push on the back of your leg with his foot, or just try to throw you off pushing on your shoulder, or...I mean, Caroline, let's face it, your tall, and you're really skinny. That doesn't make you hard to tip over. And how many boxes of hair dye were you carrying?"

Caroline looked down. "At least...eight. Eight exactly."

"Yeah, that doesn't help." J.J. exhaled. "Look, maybe he didn't, but...it wasn't so hard. Nancy could do it!"

"Don't rope me into this!"

"Sorry, but, well...just face it. It's possible."

Caroline kept looking down into her lap.

"So..." Sarah mumbled, obviously not sure what to say.

"I'm...not sure..." Gordon scratched his neck, then took up a small white towel and wiped his forehead off. "I mean, honestly, Caroline, you're covered in enough bruises that you'd probably have to fall from at least the top step, and you did manage to almost break your leg...how's that holding up, by the way?"

"In pain."

"Do you want some morphine?"

"Not right now."

"But, yeah, I mean, you couldn't have had...uh, you wouldn't have injured yourself as bad unless you've fallen from the absolutely top step, with a lot of force that pushed you down."

Caroline sighed quietly. "I...still don't believe it."

"That's fine. Nobody's making you believe it." Sarah immediately said, her form of consolation.

Edwin mumbled something under his breath. I don't think anyone really wanted to hear what he had to say.

There was a bit of a pause, as we all just sort of thought to ourselves. At least, I did. I was trying to play out what happened to Caroline in my head, her falling down from the top step without being pushed, but...it didn't make sense. I could figure out how this patient girl with perfect posture could trip and fall. We all make mistakes. But Caroline was supposed to be perfect, wasn't she?

"Alright, so what are we going to do?" Edwin sighed, looking around. "I mean, are we just going to leave him tied up in there?"

"You didn't untie him?" Caroline said, suprised.

"Er...no..." I mumbled.

"What? Why not?"

"Because he didn't seem innocent. For God's sake, he said he 'didn't remember' anything about you!" Rebecca answered matter-of-factly.

"Still...though...still..." Caroline said, apparently trying to think of something.

"Look...I mean...I..." I started, trying to say something profound, or helpful, or something. "We can't leave him in there, but...we can't let him out...I mean..."

"I'm sure he'll go back to his room if you undo his ties." Caroline nodded to her own suggestion, though she still wasn't looking at us.

Edwin shook his head, his arms crossed. "Then why was he out of his room when he pushed you down?"

Caroline sighed. "He didn't push me down the stairs."

"He did."

"Okay, look, we can't just leave him in there," Sarah rolled her eyes. "He'll starve or bleed out or something. We have to either let him out and hope he doesn't do anything else bad, or we leave him in there and...like...feed him and...like...ugh..."

"Let him go." Caroline demanded.

Nancy started counting on her fingers, then smiled. "We can put it to a vote?"

"A vote? To decide someone's life?" Caroline shook her head.

Sarah looked down. "We've...done it before..."

There was a silence. Sophia's body tied to the tree flashed across my mind, then Dianna in that metal box.

"Fine. Fine." Caroline muttered.

"Uhm...okay..." Nancy said quietly, apparently ashamed of what she said. "So...if you wanna leave him...Franklin in the room, raise your hand – oh, and close your eyes!"

I did so, and I slowly rose my hand.

"Okay...uh..." there was a pause, then she continued. "If you want to let Franklin go, raise your hand."

I didn't.

"Alright, you can open your eyes, and...uhm...we're leaving him in there."

Caroline softly sighed.

"So who's going to take care of him then?" Gordon said, strangely assertive for today.

Nobody spoke, all fidgeting, standing.

"I...can..." Nancy muttered, before Sarah grunted.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well...it's not because you're a little kid, but you're a girl. I mean...you can't go in a boy's bathroom to wait on a boy."

"I've done it before! One time, at camp..."

"At camp, were any of the kids schizophrenic attempted murderers?"

Nancy made a little unpleasant sound.

"So...it has to be a boy." I said.

"What exactly does this, like, entail?" J.J. asked, though I'm not sure why.

"I...I don't know. I guess just giving him his meals and...just making sure he's comfortable." Gordon shrugged, his hands still on the counter.

"So we'll have to cook for him?" Edwin shook his head. "No way."

"There's M.R.E.'s in the storeroom," I shrugged. "Grab one of those and make it."

Edwin shrugged.

"Can I do it?" Weston asked, smiling, his hands clasped together.

"You're...volunteering?" I asked, trying to get if I heard it right.

Weston nodded. "Oh, I already know about helping those in need – I've put in dozens hours at New York City's several homeless shelters. Besides, somebody has to do it, right?"

"Literally nobody has to." Sarah sighed.

"Well, it's what's right, and I'm fond of doing what's right."

I couldn't help but rolling my eyes.

"So...you're doing it?" Rebecca pointed halfheartedly pointed to Weston.

"Yes ma'am!"

"Well...good luck."

Weston nodded without saying anything else.

"What else is there to do?" Sarah asked. "Do you need any more help, Caroline?"

Caroline shook her head. "No. Gordon and Joanne can help me when I need it."

"Are you in any pain right now?" I asked off of the top of my head.

Caroline sighed. "Extremely. As expected of someone with a broken leg and a gash in her head."

"Well, you don't look like it." Rebecca said, apparently trying to be comforting.

"I...I have a stronger mental resilience than most, as egotistical as that sounds. Believe me, I'm barely pulling myself together. If something stressful happens while I'm still in this state, I'd probably break down crying in pain."

We waited for a few seconds for something stressful to happen.

It didn't come.

"Well, it's good that you're strong like that." Sarah nodded.

Caroline made an agreeing sound, then looked up at the ceiling, before frowning. "J.J., I'd like to change out of this...these clothes. Could you help me up to my room?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." She uneasily walked over to the bed, and made sure the wheelchair was in a good spot before kind of scooping Caroline up in a way that made me unsure if it would actually work, gently putting her down, then letting her roll out of the infirmary before following her.

"So, is that it?" I asked, looking at Gordon. He nodded.

"Well, I'm going to...I dunno. See what I can do." I said. Honestly, hospitals – well, infirmaries in this case – din't mind me a lot, but when a friend was in there...I don't know. I nodded at everyone, then left as soon as I could.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry about the delay. Last week my external hard drive just fucking failed on me, meaning I lost everything about this fic after Episode 3. This means a few things - I had to start this chapter and the next one from scratch, and I also lost all of my Free Times. So that means that there's probably won't be any Free Times posted later on. Sorry. Also, the chapter following this one will probably sound like a cop-out, but I don't want to re-write something that I spent a few days writing, and I really just want to get this story along.


	57. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone makes a major alteration.

I walked out into the hallway, trying to make sense of everything. I mean, I hope Caroline would be okay. She was going to be okay. It wasn't that hard to realize that. But a part of me wanted to worry about it just to give myself something to worry about.

I got a little bit into the hall when I heard the door close behind me, and some footsteps. I looked behind my shoulder, not sure if the person wanted to put a knife in my back or not. Rebecca. So no.

“Hey.” I said.

“Hello. Would you like to help me with something?”

“Sure. What?”

“Well...don't judge me, but I'd like to get that hair dye that Caroline dropped.”

'Why would I judge you for that?”

“Because...well, it's sort of tampering with a crime scene.”

“Not really. Just that there's blood.”

“Hm...okay.”

“So I'm going to help you pick one out?”

“Exactly!”

“I...ok-I mean, why not ask someone else?”

She sighed. “Gordon, Caroline, and J.J. are busy, Edwin and Sarah couldn't care less, and Weston and Nancy would just say okay to whatever I suggest. You're...okay.”

“Alright.”

She nodded, then started walking towards the door. I followed her.

We walked kind of quietly through the halls, passing by the door to the bathroom. I kind of wanted to see if Franklin was still in there, but I...I don't know. I didn't want to seem weird.

We got to the stairwell, and I saw everything. What was once a puddle of something, long evaporated. There were eight grey cardboard boxes, about the size of a video game case but much thicker, scattered around the puddle, some dented. Rebecca wasted no time in gathering the boxes, trying hard to hold all of them in her hand.

“Okay, let's see here...blue? Green? Pure white?” she remarked, flipping through the boxes. They all had vaguely attractive airbrushed woman models on them with shiny colored hair. Seeing those reminded me of my mom, how she would rage at seeing those ads in magazines or at the airport, saying that they were a bad influence on woman and projected a bad body image. It felt good remembering that, made me feel connected to her in that small way. I sighed and smiled. “What was that for?”

“Oh...uh, nothing.”

“Okay, these are all...bad. Too bright. I'm not looking for some vibrant neon raver crap! I just want...okay...” she kept flipping through the boxes until looking at three, a dark auburn, a dull blonde, and a dark red-brown. “Amber Wave, Blonde Dream, and Deep Redwood,” she carefully put down everything but those three, and showed them to me. “What do you think? I like Deep Redwood, but I can see myself in Amber Wave.”

I thought for a second. “Well, I mean, Deep Redwood kinda looks like Sarah's hair.”

“True.”

“So, Amber Wave?”

“I like that.”

“Okay...I'll go up to my room and apply it. I'll see how it looks. Should be better quality of my last one.”

“Alright.”

“I'll see you in a few minutes.” Rebecca picked up all of the dye boxes, then walked up the stairs, leaving me there. I didn't know what to do, I leaned against the wall, waiting, not doing much but wiping the sweat from my brow every once in a while and thinking about how fucking long this day was and how happy I was that it felt like it was almost over.

I heard the door above me open a few minutes after Rebecca left, then slow, heavy footsteps down the stairs, then J.J. carrying both Caroline in one arm, the psychologist's arms slinged around the jockey's neck, and the wheelchair slung around J.J.'s free hand, noisily bumping across the concrete stairs. Caroline was dressed in a pair of black jeans, one of the pant legs rolled up to accommodate her cast, and a white long-sleeved shirt. It still brought back bad memories of that one night. When they walked passed, I nodded. J.J. smiled wearily, Caroline nodded.

I waited another few minutes. I didn't know what to think about. I felt like my blood was boiling, but that was normal about now. I was kind of curious to see how Rebecca looked.

Finally, the door opened again, and there were lighter footsteps on concrete. Rebecca walked down. Her hair was wet, and was now dark brown. She was happy. “What do you think?”

“You look different.”

“A lot better than black, right?”

I shrugged. “I mean, it's fine.”

“Uh...alright...”

“Why do you dye your hair, anyway?”

She paused visibly.

“Well?”

“It's a long story.”

“I got time.”

“I'd rather not say it.”

I imagined rolling my eyes. “Okay.”

“Come on, let's show everyone. My hair should be dry by then.” She immediately walked through the door of the stairwell, and I followed her, walking in silence, passing by the door to the bathroom, still wanting to go check.

When we entered the infirmary, we turned heads. Or, uh, Rebecca did.

“You look great, Becca!” Weston beamed. “I like the hair. What color is it?”

“Uh...what color was it, Jack?”

I shrugged.

“It looks really good!” Nancy chimed.

Rebecca blushed a little bit.

“I'm glad you liked what I had.” Caroline smiled and sighed a little bit.

I looked around, then tried to think of what time it was. I was wet and hot and miserable. I wanted to got to bed.

“I think I'm...gonna head off.” I mumbled.

“It's only, like, five PM, though?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“So? I'm tired. It's been a long day.”

“There really isn't a goddamned lot to do here. Let him go.” Edwin had his arms crossed, though he sort of waved his hand.

“Yeah.” I agreed.

“Go ahead, nobody's stopping you.” Caroline said. She muttered something else, but I didn't hear it.

“Alright. I'll see you all tomorrow.” I smiled, glad I was finally able to get the fuck out, and without any hesitation, I left.

I passed by the bathroom door again. My curiosity was fucking gnawing, but I wasn't sure what I'd say to him anyway. I sighed, tried to think good thoughts, and headed back up to my room.

Thankfully, when I put in my I.D., I didn't get any weird hallucinations or thoughts. I opened the door, took off my shoes and my pants, changed my underwear in my bathroom, and collapsed onto my bed. The sheet still felt moist. The bedclothes weren't wet. I quickly tossed the covers down on the floor, grabbed my pillow, laid on top of the pile.

Sleep, take me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I'M SORRY
> 
> Though I do actually have a good reason why I'm two fucking weeks late! Last last week, my new laptop had a virus that - no shit - forced me to do a complete system reset. However, Windows 10 has a glitch where a system reset also apparently deletes your OS. So I had to transplant my old SSD into my laptop in order to get it working again.  
> Of course, my files for this fic didn't survive the OS deletion. So I had to start this chapter over again three times in the span of about a week.  
> Kill me.  
> Last week I couldn't really work on anything because I had to get my word processor back on my computer, which, given my shit satellite internet, took me a few days. There were also finals to deal with.
> 
> Everything worked out in the end! I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I really wanted to get it over with, so I cut a few corners. Again, sorry!


	58. Faint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which somebody falls from grace.

"Good morning, my little soon-to-be starlets! It's...fuck, I don't know. Let's make today entertaining for our viewers at home!"

I rolled over in my sad bed pile. It was all completely wet, and I could smell sweat. My shirt was clinging to my skin. It was too hot and humid to think at all – I just felt like I was about to melt, or something. I got up as best as I could, since my bones felt like jelly, and I staggered to my hamper, dragged out a pair of boxers and a new t-shirt from the bottom of the bin, along with a new pair of black jeans, thankfully all dry, slid them on. I put my I.D. in the pocket, along with my knife that I really didn't want to carry anymore, and walked out.

 It was painfully hot. I felt like I had to walk through a wall of moisture to get anywhere. So I did. I trudged through the humidity and the burning air to walk downstairs, to the T-hallway and then the dining room.

I was the first one there, but not for long. Edwin walked in, wearing a t-shirt and jorts (gross), then mostly everyone else, sweating, talking, sort of. Russell was still missing, and Franklin wasn't there for obvious reasons. J.J. came in a few minutes after everyone else, pushing Caroline in her chair.

"Well..." Rebecca started once everyone was in their chairs. "How is everyone?"

"Fine." I said, trying to hide the fact that it felt like my skin was boiling.

Sarah grunted. "Hot. Really hot."

Edwin tugged at his shirt's collar.

"How many water bottles do we have left?" J.J. asked, standing behind Caroline's chair. "Like, fifteen?"

"Really? We still have some?" Nancy beamed.

"Yeah, not that many though. I mean, thankfully, the storeroom got restocked, so...we can always make more?" J.J. shrugged, smiling.

"Oh! Speaking of the storeroom, I should probably go take care of Franklin's breakfast..." Weston said, getting up.

"Good luck." I mumbled under my breath. Out of curiosity, I looked towards Caroline. She was just staring at the floor.

"Well, what're we doing today?" Rebecca asked earnestly.

Nobody answered.

"Would people mind getting in the pool again?" Gordon tapped his chin. "Yesterday was fun."

"I...won't..." Sarah mumbled.

Caroline was looking down, still in her chair. "Fun for you, maybe..."

"I, uh, we, uh..." Nancy began, trying to think of something, but I didn't pay attention to her. I saw movement from the left side of my eye, and then Edwin uneasily got up from his seat and started staggering towards the kitchen door.

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Edwin? You okay?"

Edwin waved his hand, but it looked like it was hard for him to do.

Gordon got out of his chair fully and started making his way towards Edwin, but by the time he got there, the Grandmaster had already slammed the door. Gordon bit the bottom of his lip, managing to make me uneasy, and put an hear to the steel metal door.

We sat there and listened. "Is he alright?" Nancy whispered, and right away, Sarah had an arm around her shoulders.

A few moments went by, and there was a faint sound of something opening, almost silent. Then something sick and wet-sounding. Gordon immediately rushed the fuck into the room, followed by J.J., and then, without really realizing it, I got out of my chair, ran towards the door, and entered it. Why the hell was I trying to be nice to someone I actually really hated? Why was I acting like a hero? Fuck it. _Fuck it._

Edwin was hunched over on the floor of the kitchen, some orange colored and slightly solid liquid underneath his mouth that I, for a few happy seconds, didn't realize what it was, then I remembered it and J _esus Christ._ He was panting, wiping his mouth, coughing and sputtering, absoultely sick and disgusting. Gordon was kneeling next to him, hand on Edwin's back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, fuck, I'm fine, get off...get...off..." he mumbled slowly, then coughed twice or three times, then tried to wipe sweat off of his forehead, and he started to lose balance in his arm. 

"We'll get you up, come on..." Gordon tried to help Edwin up, only for Edwin to shove the surgeon off, but the effort apparently threw him off, and he collapsed noisily to the ground, his body going limp, almost like he was...

No.

I could only stand there and watch.

Gordon shook Edwin's shoulders.

I heard the door open behind us. Footsteps come in. Gasps.

Then the siren sounded, that loud, piercing, foghorn-like siren, piercing my brain and causing my skull to rupture and bleed out of my ears, but I still stood there.

Gordon recoiled back, his mouth open, choking back something in his throat.

Edwin convulsed for a second...it looked like he was alive...he looked so...

He then covered his ears with his hands and grit his teeth, eyes closed as tight as they could go.

"Edwin? Edwin!" Gordon shook his shoulders again. Edwin started jerking around his head until the siren stopped, then slowly got off the ground, trying to sit upright.

"You're alive?" Sarah remarked, her hand to her mouth.

"What? 'Course. Jesus, I just threw up. I'm not dead or anything."

Nancy looked like she just a ghost. Which she kind of did. "B-but...the siren..."

"That noise? What was that?"

"That's the siren that...whenever someone dies..." Rebecca stammered.

I swallowed my fear for a second, being quickly replaced by...like...hope. "So it was a false alarm?"

"Weston...Franklin..." J.J. mumbled, like she was thinking out loud or something.

My eyes went wide. No! No way! How could they have...no. There's no way.

Yet my mind went through a million possibilities.

Weston busting Franklin's head over the toilet. Franklin strangling Weston with the tie. Weston slitting Franklin's throat with his knife, or vice-versa. Franklin convincing Weston to untie him, then beating him up until his brains were spilling out.

When I came back into focus, half of the room was gone.

I ran out of the kitchen, rushed towards the boy's bathroom, trying to think _it's a false alarm it's a false alarm it's a false alarm_

I opened the door of the bathroom, heading in as soon as I could, and I walked to where everyone else was standing in the far end of the room. In front of Franklin's stall.

They were all shocked. Scared. Sickened.

_it's a false alarm_

That red tie was hung up around the frame, broken. The white tile was slick with short sprays of blood, and there was small splashes on the toilet.

Laying battered and broken, in the crevice between the toilet and the wall of the stall, in a puddle of his own blood, was Franklin's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY GOT TO THE DEAD BODY HOLY SHIT
> 
> Fairly straightforwards, short chapter. Also I got a tumblr. You can find it on my Ao3's profile page. If you want.


	59. Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a disagreement.

His face was weak, open. There was blood dripping from his mouth, specks of it all over his clothes, and a long tear along his throat. The puddle was growing by the second.

It felt like there was vomit coming up my throat.

"Jesus... _Christ..._ " Sarah said, her hand over her mouth, probably feeling like I was.

The door opened, and I heard wheels against tile. Caroline. The one or two people in her way moved away, and she wheeled to the front of the stall. Her face didn't change when she saw Franklin's body.

"Weston?" Rebecca asked, somehow sounding less sad than I expected. Weston, too. What the hell? "What happened?"

"I...I came in here to check on him, give him his food, and I found him...like this...and I tried to find what had happened, then one of those drone-camera things flew in from the ceiling and looked at him, then the siren sounded."

I looked around. There was a hatch on top of the ceiling that was open a little bit.

"Well..." Rebecca started, stammering a little bit, before she was cut off.

"Look at that! Suprisingly, the guy you idiots kept locked up is dead!" Mr. Producer's voice crackled through the loudspeakers. "Well, we'll start the investigation period now. Let's say...one hour? Oh, wait, what am I talking about? I meant _I'll_ say one hour. See you all then!"

I looked at the corpse and the stall around it. It was...I didn't know. It didn't seem like it was a...it might've been a...

What the hell was I saying? I didn't know what a murder scene looked like. I've only been through, what, two? This...

The door opened to the left of us, footsteps, heavy footsteps.

"He's..." Russell whispered, coming closer, looking into the stall, then looking down. "I...couldn't..."

We stayed silent for a moment.

Russell wiped something from his eyes and headed out.

"Well...we might as well get to work..." Rebecca said.

Sarah lead Nancy out, though not without a ton of resistance from the Scout. Weston started walking out, but something kept him nearby, behind everyone else.

"I...I...this doesn't look like I..." I started, trying to figure out what exactly I was trying to say.

"It doesn't look like a murder." Caroline softly said.

"Look at the blood, though! The abrasions on his body!" Rebecca shot back.

Caroline pointed up from her chair. "That necktie...on the top."

I looked at the torn red tie on the top of the stall's door, and on Franklin's body neck was the other part of the piece of fabric.

"What does that mean?" Rebecca said, before pausing a little bit. "I...I don't believe it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, still not sure what happened. A tie didn't mean anything.

"He hung himself with the tie...Jesus..." Edwin mumbled.

"What? How? That's not a noose." I shook my head. He couldn't have hung himself.

"You just have to get something strong against your neck and some sort of leverage or something to get that against your throat," Gordon said, looking at the tied-down...tie on the bar of the stall. "All he had to do was get this around his neck and lean hard in one way. It looks like it snapped, he fell down, busted his head on the toilet or the floor or something, bled out.

Rebecca crossed her arms. "Than what about that cut on his neck?" she said, a bit scoldingly.

Gordon shrugged, then his face lit up. "He couldn've cut it himself when he fell. With his knife. Wanted to get it over with."

Rebecca shook her head quickly. "Or, someone sneaked in here last night, used their – or his – knife to slit his throat, then made it look like a botched suicide!"

J.J. scratched her chin, then sort of pointed to something inside the stall. I saw it too. Markings. "Look at that. Like...words..."

"What do they say?" I asked, trying to look closer at the small marks on the bottom of the stall They weren't that hard to see, since the rest of the plastic wall was perfectly clean minus a few spots of blood.

Caroline looked at the scratches hard. " _I'm...Sorry..."_

Rebecca's face twisted a little bit.

"So...it was..." Caroline looked down at her lap.

"No...no...do you realize how _easy_ it would be to fake this? Do you even _see_ that cut on his throat? Hanging yourself couldn't cause that!" Rebecca angrily claimed. "Just sneak in here, cut him up, bang him against the toilet, then make it look like... _this!_ "

I looked at Franklin's broken and bloodied body. It was...it was...I couldn't describe it. It made sense that he'd kill himself, but...it didn't look like a suicide. I wasn't...I didn't..."I don't think it's a murder." I said, without really thinking about what I was saying. I looked around for reactions. Rebecca and Edwin had their brows lowered, Gordon nodded, Caroline was still looking in her lap, J.J. was and Weston

"Jack? Really? Are you...are you _blind_ or something?" Rebecca grunted.

Edwin glared at me. "Yeah, this is a murder. It's obvious."

Rebecca and Edwin shared confused looks at each other.

"He's not that...like, bruised. It's just that wound in his head. That's pretty obviously from his impact with the porcelain...I don't know." Gordon scratched his black hair.

It was starting to bother me about how...coldly we were talking about Franklin, but...I wasn't sure how to express that. I wasn't sure why I was even feeling that, either. It was like I was going soft.

"I don't believe this. This is a _murder_. Why would Franklin kill himself?! He was goddamned _smug_ when me and Jack talked to him!"

"What did he have to live for?!" Caroline yelled back. She actually raised her voice. "We lock him up in here, treat him like a goddamned prisoner when he did _nothing_ wrong, then you're suprised when he decides to take his own life whenever he realizes that he'll never be forgiven for something that he _didn't_ do and that nobody will ever accept him with a mental illness that might just be a result of stress?"

Rebecca looked at Caroline with this face of disapointment, though I wasn't sure if she was disapointed at herself or at everyone else.

"No, no, look, you naive fucks, it can't be a suicide. How did he get his tie off?" Edwin sneered. "This is assault."

J.J. sighed. "I don't know. I can see either way."

I found myself agreeing with her, but, like...I really didn't want to see another person die. As weird as it sounds, I did wish that Franklin would've taken his own life, just so I wouldn't have to see another person get killed.

"He killed himself, Joanne." Caroline tried to soothe her handler.

Rebecca exhaled heavily through her nose. Christ, here we go. "Oh my _God_. Listen, you fucking **imbeciles** , this is a **murder**! Do you realize that any asshole with a knife and half of a brain could've waltzed the fuck in here, slit his throat, cut off the tie, made it _look_ like he tried to hang himself, then cut that stupid little " _i'm sorry"_ into the wall?" she was yelling hard, almost in my ear. And I didn't like how wimpy she made the 'i'm sorry' sound. "I am going to get to the bottom of this. I'm going to find the motherfucker that did it. I'm going to bring him to justice."

Gordon looked Rebecca right in the eye, his face blank and serious. "You're going to have to do it alone." Without saying another word, he left. Caroline nodded to J.J., then started wheeling out with the Jockey following her.

Rebecca looked at the three people leaving, then at me. "Jack...you believe me, right?" she asked, suprisingly heartfully.

I thought for a moment, then...

I shook my head, trying not to look at either of them. Why not look them in the eye and say 'no'?

"Fine. Be that way." Edwin said, and by his tone I could tell he was rolling his eyes.

Fuck, I'm not dealing with this. I just...sighed, and left. I didn't want to be fucking berated for saying what I thought.

 

One thing I noticed as I got out into the hallway was that there was this small, almost silent sound of a fan. I had stopped producing enough sweat to fill a kid's swimming pool. It was like there was steam rising off of my body or something. I guess Mr. Producer pulled through on his end of the bargain.

I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to hang out with those two now...or...again. Ever. I had less than an hour. A little less than an hour. I guess the only good thing about today, other than the AC kicking on, was the fact that...it wasn't a fact, but I thought, since Franklin, well, killed himself, we wouldn't see someone get blown up or stabbed to death by Mr. Producer or whoever's in that costume. Is it a costume? Whatever.

I walked around the hallways, not sure what to do. I didn't know how long I wasted wandering through the same halls, not thinking, or thinking about stuff I didn't want to think about.

I came across Sarah and Nancy sitting on the ground in the T.V. Room. They were talking. They invited me to sit with them. I stood nearby.

"Why aren't you with Rebecca?" Nancy asked, her legs pulled to her chest.

I looked at the ceiling. "We had a disagreement."

"About what? The two of you were always pretty, like, stuck together. Like glue." Sarah said. It didn't make me feel any better.

"About Franklin." I said, y'know, like he was still alive.

"Why?"

"She thinks he was murdered, and I...everyone else thinks he just...took his own life.

"That's...okay." Sarah looked...uncomfortable. I guess.

I breathed in and exhaled, my eyes closed. I should probably go get my jacket, now that it's cool again. It's lucky, after all.

Nancy hummed for a few seconds, I guess just trying to calm herself down. I couldn't make out what it was, but it did sound like a song. She wasn't looking at anyone. Sarah leaned in, then smiled. " _New Russian Clothes_ by _To Yo Tigers_?"

"That's a song?" I asked, my mouth hanging open. "That's a _band_?"

Sarah shrugged. "Experimental music can get pretty weird. Ever hear of an album called _God Told Me To Disembowel Myself Like His Father_?"

My mouth was still open.

"Yeah, it was this instrumental post-punk album that used a lot of classical Roman and Greek in it's composition, it's meant to be, like..."

The door behind us opened. Caroline rolled in, being lead by Gordon, with J.J. holding the door.

Sarah recovered from the temporary interruption. "So, yeah, some guy finds these two tapes in a flea market in Tel Aviv, they're covered in excerpts from the Bible and the Quran written in Greek and Latin, and the only English words are on the spines, which is that title I was telling you about."

"What's this, now?" Caroline asked.

"Oh, ever hear of something called _God Told Me To Disembowel Myself Like His Father_?"

Caroline slowly shook her head.

"So, yeah, it's this post-punk album, really old-sounding, this guy find that these two tapes have the same songs on them, twelve songs each, like fifty minutes in all, but they're different takes, he records them on his phone, then puts it on the Internet."

"What are the lyrics?" J.J. scratched her chin. Her hair was growing longer and more frazzled. Almost like Sarah's.

"No, see, it's all instrumental. No lyrics. But it's all super-aggresive, super-heavy sounding stuff. It has a few samples of, like, old folk songs from Britain and Poland, but they're distorted to all hell so we can't make out the lyrics. But there's this old 'hiss and grind' that you get when you record something on a shitty boombox. Nobody knows anything about it. People tried to dissect it, but it doesn't do anything," Sarah leaned back on her hands, her face pleased. "The tapes are now in an Amsterdam curio museum."

"That's...uh..." Nancy mumbled. She looked like she didn't understand. Neither did anyone else.

"You have to listen to it to really ' _get_ ' it," Sarah said, in a perfect hipster way. "Once the military comes in and swoops us up and rescues us in that perfect deux-ex-machina way, you guys can look it up."

I wrinkled my lip a little bit. "What does that mean?"

" _Deux ex machina_?" Sarah clarified, then scratched the hair under her beanie. "Uh..."

"Latin for 'God in the machine', I believe." Caroline told me. "It means something inexplicable and silly that makes everything better in a story."

I nodded, trying to wish something like that would happen.

We stayed silent for a second, then I looked at my arms. Scrawny. I really wanted to put on my jacket now. So I told them "I'm going to put on my jacket." and left, heading out of the room, up the stairs, and into my room. No horrifying hallucinations this time, no thinking.

My jacket slid on like an old memory. I felt...comforted. Like someone hugging me all over my body. Like I was home again.

I think the feeling was called nostalgia. I never knew what the right definition was, though.

When I walked out, I thought about heading down to the restroom...part of me wanted to apologize. Part of me didn't want to seem soft.

Maybe I could go down to where everyone else was, in the T.V. Room, sort of just sit down and -

"ATTENTION! EVERYONE! Your hour's up! Time to head down to the courtroom and see who killed our dear pal!"

I rubbed my forehead. Shit. _Shit._

At least I wouldn't see anyone die this time.

What was I saying? Franklin was dead. He was _fucking_ dead. Why did I not...care? I...

_don't think about that_

I bit my tongue, swallowed these bad feelings, and headed down to that nightmare door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun fact, my new word processor doesn't have a spell check. So I'm sort of fucked in that regard. Sorry!  
> This really kicked my ass to get in on time. I got caught up in a few other projects and a new fic. Also, tumblr. I never knew how horrible it was.


	60. Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone fesses up.

I hated this concrete fucking stairway. There was no color. Almost no light except for this buzzing fucking electric fluorescent on the ceiling that sounded like a million little mosquitos around my brain. Would it have killed them to add some fucking color to this room? A painting, even if it was one of those with the screen inside it. Even if it showed Mr. Producer's face 24-fucking-seven.

It didn't take me long to go down to the metal banged-up door. I was the first one there, though Rebecca, Edwin, and Weston came out of the bathroom a few seconds I arrived. Nancy, Sarah, and Gordon were next, followed by J.J. and Caroline, though J.J. wasn't pushing her.

I was leaning against the wall, waiting for everyone to come. I guess we were still waiting on Russell. Nancy was standing in front of me, her back turned to me. She was wearing that one sleeveless shirt that made all of her arm scars visible, exposing a...slender...neck...

_strangle her run choke her out you can do it_

what the fuck no what am i thinking jesus **christ**

_wring around her neck and_

shut up shut up shut

_can do it easy easy just_

not killing her i'd be

"Jack?"

My mind snapped back to attention. I...what was I thinking? No, really, _what_ was I thinking? I saw Nancy's neck, then just...nothing...

"Jack?" Weston.

"What?"

"We're heading in. Aren't you coming? You...you _should_ come, right?"

I looked into the doorway. Everybody but Weston was in. They were all talking amongst themselves. Nobody noticed me.

"Oh, yeah, sure." I pried myself off the wall and headed inside. I tried to breathe easy. Nobody was dying today. Nobody else was dying today.

The room with the single light in it was wearing out it's welcome by now. It was no longer creepy or anything, just weird. The elevator dinged, we stepped inside it, I saw the fact that we weren't standing on anything. It didn't bug me.

Russell was there. He wasn't looking at anyone. Just off into the distance.

The elevator dropped down a bit, not phasing me, though a few others people were startled, and it slowly kept going down until it rattled and stopped, and the doors retracted and opened into that dark corrider with the light at the far end.

"Well...“ Gordon started, making his way to the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

J.J. nodded and started pushing Caroline out, I guess because of the bump between the elevator and the hallway, making them the first ones out. I left soon after them.

The ‘courtroom’ or whatever the fuck this room was called had new walls – this time, made out of some sort of cork or wood with pictures, notes, and lines made out of colored twine connecting them from bit to bit. Out of curiosity, I inspected the ones behind my podium. The notes were literal scribbles. The pictures were shittily printed stock photos. The twine was twine.

I felt…I don’t know. Tense. Even though this was going to end without…I shouldn’t tempt fate like that. But there was no way this could end in a death. Franklin killed himself, wasn’t that enough?

Everyone got in their positions. In Dianna’s place was one of those T.V.’s, flashing through images of her on a computer, interviewing someone, selfies. She looked so innocent. Franklin had a T.V., too – promotional images of him in a director’s chair, him editing footage, him on a phone. He seemed like such a genius. From what I read – what I think I read, it’s been more than a few weeks since I read that stuff – he _was_ a genius. He was a visionary. Now he’s dead.

“Alright, who’s ready to talk about murder, the best subject of all?” Mr. Producer announced, still in his position on top of that podium, not moving.

I looked at everyone, not sure why. I wanted to see their reactions, I guess. When I looked at Nancy, I went blank for a second, then…my mind filled in the details of what happened a few minutes ago.

Jesus Christ, sometimes I wish I could turn my mind off. Permanently.

“Uh, actually, Mr. Producer, _sir_ ,” Gordon asked, with a nice voice with the smallest hint of sarcasm underneath it. “We think that Franklin Mason killed himself.”

“Really? Huh…well, I’ll be honest, I don’t have any cameras in the bathroom. I don’t want to get any pictures of snatches and wing-wangs, since that’s ‘child pornography’ or something. Thankfully, the mirrors in your guy’s rooms aren’t open on the website, but…”

Nancy opened her mouth a little bit in shock. “ _Website?_ ” 

“Oh, yeah, people are able to look at you guys gallivanting around and doing stuff in each of the rooms on the Despair America .odd site. That’s why you guys can’t go around fucking and showing your various genitalia while you’re in the main mansion. Seriously, I thought I told you guys all that like, what, the second day?”

“Whatever.” J.J. said, her eyes rolling.

“Alright, I mean, if people think that little mister fucked-up-in-the-noodle took the _easy_ way-“

“ACTUALLY…” Rebecca announced, cutting him off, which I didn’t think was the right-well, _smart_ thing to do. She had her silver glasses on. “Me and…Edwin have an alternate theory.”

“Oh, by all means, spill your guts out! We really need a good and long trial to round out today’s episode. Well, not that it matters, but…wait, nevermind. Go nuts!”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “How many people saw the body? As in, they _really_ saw it?”

I rolled my eyes, raised my hand. A few other people did, too.

“Well, for those of you that didn’t investigate further,” she continued. “Franklin’s corpse _appeared_ to be a suicide, as determined by the presence of half of a red necktie on the top of the stall’s door, and a small carving on the side of the wall reading ‘i’m sorry’.  At first glance, this looks like a suicide. However, the bod-Franklin’s body sported several abrasions on the skin and one large wound on his head that broke skin. There was also a short, clean cut on his throat.”

Caroline was rubbing the long strip of gauze wrapped around her forehead. I couldn’t tell if it was out of annoyance or if she didn’t like being reminded of it or something.

“So, why would someone who supposedly killed himself have bruises around his neck and his arms? Why would there be a cut on his – “

Gordon sighed heavily. “Because, Rebecca, we’ve been over this. Franklin used his knife to engrave his note, he cut off the tie, tied it to the top of the stall door, then he tried to strangle himself with it, then it managed to slice open his throat, it snapped, he busted his head open on the toilet, dead, or he used his knife to cut open his own throat after he fell to end it all quickly,” he folded his arms, his face as serious as it ever was. “Look, not everyone here is a murderer. We’ve…sometimes people just go through rough stuff and can’t take it. Especially if we’re the ones causing it.”

I followed Gordon’s example by exhaling a little bit. “Look, it’s not that hard to understand. In this situation, this whole game bullshit, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Russell winced. There was something shiny in his eyes.

“I understand that. I’ve worked with the families of several teenagers and young adults who have committed suicide. I’ve visited people in mental hospitals, worked through it with them. I’ve seen what it’s like. And forgive me for getting angry at this earlier. But…I just don’t – I didn’t see that in Franklin. He was smug about his supposed connection to Caroline’s injuries, and he just seemed…like what _Russell_ did to him wasn’t phasing him. I don’t understand why he’d just crash and burn within 24 hours.” For some reason, when she said Russell, her voice was smothered in this…hate. Anger. I…whatever.

“There are _several_ reasons, but…proceed.” Caroline mentioned off-handedly.

Rebecca glared intensely at Caroline, but she just shook her head and continued. “So, the bruises and the neck wound didn’t come from just his fall. Someone must’ve applied them, right? How else could he have an abrasion on his left arm…Edwin, do you want to add anything?”

Edwin was mid-yawn, but when he heard his name being called, he shook his head. “Nah…you said everything.”

“So…we’ve narrowed it down to one person who could’ve done this…” Rebecca continued, her voice rising with every word. “The only person strong enough to break Franklin so thoroughly…”

She raised her hand and pointed it.

 “RUSSELL RAMSES!”

Wait…what? This early? No. She was wrong. There’s no way he could…

I remembered, when Samson died, he sort of…assaulted me after Rebecca got framed with that knife, the one Franklin was obsessing over. He wanted to kill…I think he said he wanted to kill the person who had murdered those two girls, the person with that secret, and…I didn’t know if that was even true. Nobody here was a killer. That was certain. And he had also assaulted Franklin after we thought he had tried to kill Caroline, and…

No. He would never kill someone. He just was an ‘eye for an eye’ kind of guy…

Right?

Russell had his face covered before Rebecca had accused him, and when those words cleared her lips, he slid his hand off his eyes. “ _What._ ”

“You heard me, asshole!” Rebecca yelled. “You weren’t content with –“

“No, no, no, no, no…” J.J. mumbled, shaking her head. “Really? Why would Russell want to kill Franklin? Yeah…yeah, he messed him up, but he seemed pretty torn up about it.”

“I did something wrong. I owned up to it,” Russell looked downwards, his arms crossed. He just looked…disappointed. “I didn’t hate the guy. I tried to do what I thought was right – I mean, by assaulting him and putting him in the bathroom. I wasn’t thinking right. You know, when I’m angry, I don’t think right.”

Rebecca glared hard at Russell. She looked like she wanted to throttle him. “That’s quite a convenient thing for you to admit.”

“What? Wasn’t it obvious?” He groaned. “Don’t you remember when I offered to ‘take out’ whoever here killed those two girls? I regretted it right after I mentioned it. I beat myself up over it all night. I don’t _think right_ sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ, Rebecca, let it go,” Sarah said, with her slightly annoying voice in an annoyed tone. “Russell didn’t do anything. Franklin just…Russell’s innocent.”

“Oh my G-Listen. How the hell else could Franklin’s body be covered in those bruises?”

I looked towards Russell. “How badly did you beat up Franklin last night?”

“I put him in a headlock, plus I might…I hit him once in the stomach to make him easier to grab. I was blinded by anger. I wasn’t in sound of mind.”

“Nobody else here is strong enough to make him bruise like that,” Rebecca leaned forward, staring through her glasses. “I don’t care if anyone here believes me. I know what’s right. Russell might have built up a rapport with you all, unlike Sophia, unlike Malcolm, but he’s a cold-blooded _kille_ r at heart.”

Russell’s eyes were growing more shiny. “I’ve done enough bad things in my life…I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But this isn’t one of them!”

Caroline looked downward. It was hard to tell, since, thanks to being stuck in her chair, her head was barely above the podium. “Like…what?” she quietly asked, sounding somewhat like she was in pain.

Russell looked forward at Caroline, his face serious, looking almost like an old statue of Hercules or something. “I’m not saying.”

“Nobody’s judging,” Weston said, smooth as always. “You’re among friends.”

“If I told you…you’d incriminate me and I’d be killed for something I didn’t do, something that I…I didn’t do _intentionally_ , but…” he said, and I…was starting to get second thoughts.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “That settles it.”

Russell’s eyes closed and tightened. “I would never kill anyone, alright? Especially if they’re tied up in a bathroom and not thinking straight. Especially if I’ve already roughed them up for the wrong reasons. I spent five hours last night meditating and crying. I knew that everyone – my parents, my girlfriend – saw me almost kill someone. What kind of person would think that, then try and go back and finish the job?”

Rebecca was silent for a second. “Well…”

“Listen, I’ve tired of being treated like this…psychopath. I’ve done some stuff before that made me…that makes me feel bad now. I’d never try and get that feeling again. I know I’ve been fighting it for a long while.”

Rebecca looked at him sternly.

“And…just to clear everything up, the reason why nobody saw me late yesterday and this morning was because I stayed in my room until the siren went off.”

Rebecca looked downward.

“You’re just going to give up like that?” Edwin sneered. “Jesus Christ, seriously? He gives you the puppy dog eyes and you melt and feel sorry for yourself. He’s the killer!”

“Edwin, just…we were wrong,” Rebecca bit the bottom of her lip for a few seconds. “Russell, I’m sorry. I…”

“You were blinded by what you saw too. I understand.”

There was this weird yawning sound – well, more like some sort of machine sounding like a yawn. “Oh my god this is so _boring_.” Mr. Producer groaned in that off-putting voice.

“Okay, we’re sorry, but this isn’t a murder.” Gordon sighed.

“I’m sorry, who gave you the authority to say when something’s a murder?” Mr. Producer snapped back.

“I _probably_ do, or else I spent, like, my entire life to study medicine for nothing…” Gordon said, pretty damn sarcastically.

“No, listen, if I wanted everyone to apologize and make nice and say ‘oh you’re so nice and good’ I would’ve watched a little kid’s show. You know what? This is officially a murder investigation. Someone killed the nutjob, now you guys gotta figure out who did it! I’ll give you…fifteen minutes to figure it out,” Mr. Producer chuckled. “Someone’s gonna die tonight. Good luck!”

My heart sank.

_no no no no no no_

“What! No! You can’t do that!” Sarah shouted. “Franklin killed himself! That’s it!”

“That’s not exciting enough! Plus, I couldn’t capture it on the cameras. Nobody could! So nobody knows if he _did_ jump the fuck off his own mortal coil or not. But, guess what?” he chuckled again, and then kept speaking in a really low and sinister tone. “I’m **_God_** here. I don’t know if any of you morons caught on yet, but **_I_** make the rules. And now? I know _exactly_ what happened. The schizo was murdered. One of you did it.”

_no no no no no no no no no NO_

I grit my teeth, and I felt my eyes growing hot. “No! You can’t just fucking do that!” I screamed, leaning against the podium and trying to get a good fucking look at the guy who I was going to punch in the face in a few seconds. “I don’t care if you’re ‘God’ or not, but you’re not going to do this! You can’t just make us get – get rid of one of us just because **you** said so!”

“But I _did_ say so. And you are.”

 “I’m not!” I screamed back. My throat was starting to hurt. It was a good hurt.

“Then I’ll shoot you. Right here, right now. Whoever doesn’t vote gets shot. You haven’t caught on, have you? You can’t win.”

I looked at the gun. It was making some sort of cocking sound. My body closed up my throat for me. My teeth were still grinding.

Nancy started choking up. Gordon’s throat shook a little bit. J.J. looked at the gun, then blankly ahead. Caroline was put a hand to her forehead and leaned forward in her chair. Edwin smiled, but awkwardly. Rebecca’s face was turning red. Bright red. Cherry red.

I then realized that we were all going to die in here. There was no fighting it – if this guy, this absolute maniac was calling the shots – he’d pull everything he could to make sure we’d all end up dead. We couldn’t rebel, we couldn’t run away, we couldn’t act sane and rational or _anything_. He’d frame us. He’d set us up. He’d kill one of us just to prove a point – he’s threatened it in the past, why not now?

We’ve already lost.

“What’re…we…” Weston whimpered, his whole body trembling.

Russell stared at everyone else, obviously thinking. “This is…I…” he was obviously thinking hard, then his eyes tightened and he breathed deep for a few seconds. “I know what happened. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I…found out what happened to him.”

Rebecca glared at him. “And you’re telling us _now_? My God, ma-“

“I did it.” he said, without any sort of remorse in his voice.

I felt my jaw give way a little bit. No. No, no, he coulnd’t have. Could he?

“What?” Rebecca said, her mouth open. “But…you…you monster! You played us all like a goddamned fiddle! You-“

Russell put a hand up. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t murder him. Franklin. But I made him kill himself. I was a monster to him. I’ve been a monster to a lot of people. I think…I think it’s time that I pay for it.”

Rebecca’s mouth was still open. “You…”

“I don’t get it.” I mumbled. I didn’t know anything.

“I was the reason he killed himself,” Russell nodded, though he still wasn’t looking at anyone. “I treated him like…like he wasn’t a person anymore. Whenever I beat him up for a crime he didn’t commit, I just…made him feel so fragile. It’s what happens when you bully someone. They don’t feel like a real human being anymore. And…he decided that if people were going to treat him like that here, he wouldn’t want to live what might as well be an eternity in this place.”

Caroline’s eyes were wide, though, since she didn’t have her glasses on, they were still really small. “You don’t know that’s what happened. He might’ve-“

“It’s happened before.” Russell sighed deeply.

Nancy looked at Russell, like she was confused, like she didn’t believe – or want to believe – what was happening. “Was your secret…was your secret that yo-you bullied someone an– “

“Garrett Moreau,” Russell said softly, not making eye contact. “I-I embarrassed him in front of everyone. Continuously. Beat him up after school when my friends told me to once. I framed him when someone stole all the girl’s underwear from the locker room, and nobody talked to him after that. He became this…outcast. A pariah. When he was 14 he…he shoved a shotgun under his chin and pulled the trigger.” His eyes were completely wet now, and it was obvious he was about to break down. It’s…I understood why.

The entire courtroom was dead silent.

“I’m a terrible person…I’ve done stuff that I shouldn’t have done. Because I thought it was funny. Because I thought it was a cool thing to do. I’ve tried to make it right by…moving to another state, trying to t-turn myself into an anti-bullying crusader - to this person that does the right thing, but…I’m still the same person underneath, and…I still sometimes - sometimes, get these…and… when I…” he was silently sobbing now, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry…I did it again, I did to Franklin, and I’m sorry, and…just…I did it…I’m the murderer…”

“Wait…so…” Grodon whimpered, his voice wavering. “You wan-want us to…”

Russell slowly nodded.

“No…no!” Nancy pleaded. “You can’t die! I don’t want to see an-another person - ”

I looked Russell right in the eyes, or, at least, his eyelids, and whatever lid I could see through his hanging dreadlocks. “Do you even remember what happened to Sophia? Dianna? You’re want to go _through_ that?”

He didn’t respond.

“Russell, you c-can’t do this,” J.J pleaded. “We’re not going to kill you! We-“

“WHAT CHOICE DO YOU FUCKING _HAVE_?!” Russell _exploded_ , tears streaking down his face, his teeth grit. “Jesus Christ, who else can you kill?! Sarah? Joanne? I’m the one who _did this_ to Franklin, I’m the one who’s done this to Garret, I’m the one who was a fucking nightmare to _everyone_ until he wised the fuck up! I – Christ, I’m-I’m just…just…every damn day, every goddamned day I just hate myself for what I was, and all of the goddamned public speaking and the motivational talks it just doesn’t feel like I mean a single fucking word of it, and I just, I just…I don’t know if I do…and…” he held his head like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “I just want to _die_ , I just want to get rid of this feeling, I just want to make it right for all those kids I tormented and all those kids who believed every one of those words that I don’t know was a good thing to say, and…”

“Russell, we can make it right, we’re going to get out of here, we’re going to – “ Rebecca tried to say, though…you know, when you’re with someone long enough, you know when they’re telling the truth. She wasn’t.

“We can’t win, _he_ said so,” Russell sputtered. “Just…let…”

“No,” I said as serious as I could. “We’re not. We’ll work our way around it! We’ll…we’ll do it randomly! We’ll…” I stopped myself. Did I seriously recommend doing it _randomly_?

Russell coughed in his throat. “Make it…just do it.”

Edwin scrunched up the bottom part of his face and sighed. “I…no…I…” he said, stumbling through his words.

“Okay, before any more ‘deliberation’ occurs, let’s put this to a vote! Please vote for whoever you think killed the little psycho kid. No takebacks!”

The screen on the podium lit up. Faces filled it. I stared blankly at all the people, like…like…

No. It was a feeling impossible to describe. I could kill someone if I wanted to, someone who wanted to die, but he wanted to die for reasons that you didn’t know or think were right. Unlike Sophia, unlike Dianna, it felt like I had a gun to their heads, and they were begging me to pull the trigger. It fills you with power, power that you don’t want. Power that you want to get rid of by killing them, but you wish you could just fire into the air.

I did what I knew wasn’t the right thing.

The sound of beeping filled the air. Every little electronic noise made me feel even worse.

The lights shut off.

“Okay, let’s see who’s losing it all…” Mr. Producer said, and the spotlight began shining on everyone, before it settled on…

Russell.

“The beefcake! Any last words, you _murderer_?”

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, arms crossed, face down.

The claw came out from the wall behind him, disrupting a few bits of twine, and caught him by the stomch, lifting him up, and bringing him back into the darkness. Slowly.

“Alright, give me a few minutes to make sure this guy gets what he deserves…”

Nancy sniffled, then started rubbing her eyes hard. “I…I killed him, I killed him, I _killed_ him, I-I killed him…”

Sarah rushed over and hugged Nancy hard, saying thing softly enough that I really couldn’t hear her. I didn’t want to.

“But the last t-times, I didn’t vote, and this time I had to, and I…I…just…”

“You didn’t vote?” I asked, actually surprised that you…just didn’t have to.

“I didn’t…want to kill…” she spat out through gasps for air.

You didn’t have to vote for anyone? I could’ve just…not…

“Nancy, you’re not the one actually…you know…” Gordon tried to say, though it sounded like it was hard for him to parse.

Rebecca was about to say something, but the door above the spiral staircase had already receded.

“Well, let’s get a move on, kiddos! Let’s not be late for this asshole’s big debut!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't say a lot about this.


	61. Play-by-Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone fails all expectations.

I looked down the spiral staircase to the red-carpet floor, lit way to well for such a gruesome place.

“I’m assuming that…if we don’t go down there, we’ll get shot.” Rebecca mumbled.

I looked towards that unmoving Mr. Producer. He – it – didn’t say anything.

“How in the world am I supposed to get down there?” Caroline snarled. “I’m _really_ starting to hate this godda – oh, okay.” I looked to where Caroline’s voice was coming from, and saw that J.J. had already swept Caroline up in her arms, carefully walking down the stairwell.

Nancy was still softly sobbing behind me. Sarah was walking beside her, hand on Nancy’s back. Edwin look shook up. Weston looked shockingly sad. I wasn’t used to him seeing him anything but happy.

I swallowed my fear, closed my eyes for a second, and headed down the stairs. Every sneaker-against-metal sound made me feel worse and worse.  Once I hit the bottom, I…

I just didn’t want to do this anymore.

The room was exactly as disturbingly clean as I remembered it. Fifteen velvet chairs, set on a slope, with a long window wall in front of the chairs, looking into an abyss. The three screens on the top of the wall were black.

I sat down on one of the chairs in the back row. I ran my hands through my too-tall hair, I sighed, I looked down at the floor. This was happening again. To someone who _wanted_ it, no less. I just couldn’t understand anything.

Everyone else sat down. I heard the _shuck_ of the clamps coming on, but, for some reason, my wrists felt, like, free. I looked at them. Then I realized that I could actually move my hands, my wrists. When I was trying to make sense of everything, feeling my face, I guess they just…weren’t on the arms of the chair when the things came up, and I was…

Free.

Should I get up? Can I just leave? I looked up at the top of the spiral staircase. The ceiling was covered. I couldn’t leave. What would happen if I got up? What would people say? They’d probably try to get me to get them out of their cuffs, which I couldn’t do. Shit.

Just sit there and pretend nothing happened.

I did.

The lights flicked on in front of us, onto the concrete area, shining on a big rectangle sloppily painted onto the floor, with smaller rectangles inside of it. At the far end was a goalpost. It was a football field. Duh. The TVs in the room were showing different angles, a person standing at the far left end – Russell. At his feet was a black leather football.

“Alright, listen, beefcake…” Mr. Producer said over the intercom, his voice fuzzy and almost incomplete. “I’m gonna give you one chance. You get that ball over to the far end of the field, and I’ll let you go! Maybe. Oh, also, there’s little, heh, _suprises_ on the ground. Good luck!”

Russell picked up the ball, looked around. He scanned the field. The cameras focused a lot on his face. He took a step forward.

Then he threw the ball over his shoulder, shook his head, and walked away. He literally just fucking walked off the field. What the hell?! You can DO that?! The Drones tried to follow him, but he quickly stepped into an area not shown by the lights, and it was impossible to see him anymore. I was on the edge of my seat, looking ahead. Everyone else was saying some sort of astonished exclamation or something.

“WHERE ARE YOU HIDING?!” Russell screamed, his voice barely audible. “COME OUT!”

“Get back on the field.” Mr. Producer said, angrily but sort of calmly.

“NO! COME OUT!”

I heard more exclamation, but some of it…was voices that I don’t remember. They were distant.

“I’ll give you to 10. No, five.”

“WHERE ARE THE REST OF YOU?! I HEAR YOU!”

“Four…”

“COME ON! I’M HERE!” he kept screaming, at the top of his lungs.

“If you say so…threetwoone, _go_.”

Through the darkness, through the windows, through our skulls, a gunshot sounded, the screens filled up with light with a black figure in the middle, then a wet and sudden impact, like something just burst, and something heavy sounding to the floor.

My mind took a while to process it…they…just…

“Did they…oh, _God…_ ” Caroline gasped.

Sarah shook her head. “Like a goddamned dog.”

I looked at the televisions, like…I could look through the darkness, find out what happened, see Russell beating someone with a gun.

There was nothing. Just black.

I heard the metal cuffs come off, and I instinctively felt my wrists, even if they were already free. People started getting up, choking, making sick sniffling sounds and making me feel worse.

I got up, looked at the ground, sighed, and started climbing the stairs. It…he died quickly. At least that’s…

I can’t even feel _try_ to feel good anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about missing last week. I got an idea of a new fic in my head (which amounts to what I'm doing with Dangan Ronpa, but with another franchise), and I ended up writing more than 40 pages of story instead of working on this one. Because of that, I neglected this chapter until this week. Sorry! Also sorry if this is short, but like the last two executions, I'm ending right after the person dies, so...cool?


	62. Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody knows what to feel.

I was the first one in the elevator. I wanted to get out. _Out._

I felt my hand get filled with warmth, blood. I could kill. I felt it all over now. I could…slash someone’s throat, strangle them, beat them against the wall…

I wanted out. OUT. I just had to get rid of someone. Someone. **Kill them.** Get rid of them. I just had to

Something snapped inside of me. A good snap. I shook my head.

What the _hell_ was I just thinking? No, no, I would never do that. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. No, no, no, don’t think that, don’t _think_. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

My hands were shaking. Shit, no, get calm, get sane, Jesus Christ, you’re okay, you’re good, it’s just a slip up, it’s just stress, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re…

I wasn’t okay.

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Are you getting off?”

“Yeah.”

I got off ahead of everyone else, walked through the dark room, waited for the door to open, and exited.

I felt so many emotions at once. The biggest one was grief at Russell. It didn’t hurt as much as Dianna, and it definitely didn’t hurt as much as Sophia, but this one…

He was completely innocent. He just had a rough time. He had more than a rough time. But he didn’t kill anyone. He…

Did he kill anyone? Did he kill Franklin? What if he actually killed him, but made it look like a suicide, and then just…

Why would he say all that shit, though? Why would he play with our hearts if he wanted to do that? Unless he wanted one last laugh. Unless he was a sick fuck.

No. None of that made sense. None of that made any sense. Nothing made any sense.

I also felt, just…this tense feeling in my back. Stress. Because of those…when I saw Nancy’s thin neck, and when I just started screaming inside my head in the elevator. I wanted to get rid of this…Christ. I’m losing it. What the hell is wrong with me?!

I looked around, and I saw Caroline. Sitting alone in her chair. She hated that thing, I could tell. Maybe she could clear this up.

“Hey, Caroline…” I said, trying to be soft. She looked up at me. Her face was…sad. Depressed. I think.

“Yes?”

“Do you think Russell was…sick? Like…if he just said all that stuff to get a rise out of all of us?”

She deeply sighed. “I’m through with trying to label people with illnesses and diseases.”

“Why?”

She looked down at the floor. “When someone does something bad, and you say ‘oh, that person has symptoms of sociopathy’ or something along those lines, it tells everyone else ‘that person isn’t like me, who’s sane. That person isn’t a human. They’re beneath me.’ It dehumanizes them, and it gives the spectators a reason to cease interacting with them. When I labeled Franklin as a schizophrenic, it was probably what made Russell assault him. He probably thought that ‘he’s less than human.’ Of course, people think differently than what I think they think like, so that’s probably not the case,” she looked up at me without moving her head. It made her look…sort of pitiful. “For the record, I’ve rescinded my diagnoses of Dianna and Franklin. I have no prior record of erotomania in Dianna, and I probably will never find one. It’s highly likely that her attraction to you was just brought on by stress or a sort of claustrophobic reaction – or, a better term, cabin fever,” Caroline sighed again. “It’s the same with Franklin. He mentioned having to take pills in his rant, but…that could’ve been for anything. He might’ve read about the Reindts in a prior experience, and the stress caused him to connect the two while experiencing this. He might’ve seen this as a sort of ‘awakening’ and that the medication he had to take was to keep his thoughts suppressed. Of course, those are all just dumb theories…I’m probably wrong.”

I stood there, trying to soak everything in. I…okay. I guess. That made me feel a little bit…I didn’t know what it made me feel. Alright. It made me feel alright. Should I tell her about these…urges I’ve been having? This violent feeling inside of me? I…

“Can I ask you something?” I blurted out.

“Yes.”

“Are you still doing those…therapy sessions?”

She paused for a second, then looked away. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to do those anymore.”

“No, just…I don’t know…”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad, I think…”

“Talk to me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She nodded at me, then started to roll her chair away, leaving me there.

I felt my head. Everything didn’t make any sense.

I wanted to go to bed. But I’ve always tried to escape this place by going to bed. And whenever I dream, I dream of…strangling and drinking and being hated and…

I headed upstairs.

I opened the door in the staircase that lead to the second floor, and I…stopped.

There was this weird noise, distant but present, that sounded like…static. Or, like, a shower dripping water, but on a massive scale.

I stood in the center of the hallway, looking up, trying to figure out what in the hell this sound was. I…I’ve never heard anything like it before. Have I? I tried to think deep about where on Earth I’ve could’ve heard this before. Maybe on one of my trips? All of those memories seemed so distant. It just…

I heard the door open behind me.

“What’s that sound?” I asked, not caring who answered.

“What do you…oh. Oh!” I heard Weston remark. “It’s rain. It’s raining!”

Rain.

“I thought we were underground?” I said, looking up, letting the sounds hit my ears better. “How is it raining?”

“I…don’t know…” Weston said. He was right by me, now. “It’s…odd. But maybe we’re not underground! Maybe we’re above ground, and that’ll make it easier for people to find us!”

“Wouldn’t they have already found us by now?”

“Oh…it’s just a theory, anyway.” He laughed, even if I shut him down.

I nodded, and then walked away, still looking up.

“Where are you going?”

“Bed.” I said, not sure if that was what I was actually doing.

“This early?”

“I guess.”

“Oh…well, okay.”

I reached my door, pulled out my I.D., then stopped.

Why do I always try to escape this shit by sleeping? It’s always just…fuck, it’s like I try to end the day forcefully and I just end up lying on my bed trying not to think about what just happened. I’m…just…I’m tired of trying to run away. I’m tired of trying to escape this fucking problem. Just man up, toughen up, and face it.

I ended up slumping in the space between my door and Dianna’s. Of course it was Dianna’s. I sat against the wall, staring ahead, looking at the grey walls and the wood doors that blended together into an unpleasant and disturbing color. Small pinprick lights appeared all over my eyes before disappearing.  I let the raindrops bother and annoy me just to get some sort of emotion.

There’s a point that everyone has. When you realize that ‘you know, I can’t take much more of this’. Whether it’s when you’re getting bullied or when your parents keep yelling at you or when you’re in finals week or whenever you’re doing something stressful and anxious and awful. You get to that point, and you feel like you’re going to go crazy, and you try to do everything to get yourself back down to manageable levels, where you think “I can do this. I can handle this.”

I had passed that point long ago, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

I kept staring at the walls. Those fucking walls. I hated those walls. Just…they kept me in. As walls do. But here, I was…

Those fucking walls. Those _fucking walls_.

Two pairs of legs entered my vision. Pale grey pants. I looked up.

“Is everything okay?”

“Don’t you just want to…get out? Just fucking bust a hole in the wall and get the fuck out?”

“What?”

“I’m serious. We go to the foyer or whatever the fuck it’s called, we get some hammers, just fucking pound the walls until we get the fuck out.”

“Are you high?”

“No. Fuck you, no. I’m just saying, we need to get _out_. Get the fuck out before more people die.”

“Jack…you need to calm down. You’re talking too fast.”

“I’m talking to fast? You know what, Dianna, just shut up! Listen to me! We need to get out. We ne-“

“I’m sorry, _what_ did you just call me?!”

“Rebecca.”

“No, you called me Dianna! Seriously, Jack, are you high? You’re talking too fast, your eyes are almost bloodshot, and you’re obviously not in sound of mind…”

I narrowed my eyes and tried to examine her. She looked…pissed. Seriously pissed. I…I fucked up. What the hell is…what am I saying? What the hell is…

There’s something wrong with me.

“Sorry.”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you to Caroline, whether you – or her like it or not.”

“I…I already asked. She said she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, but I’m afraid if I leave you to fester, I’ll find you nude, in your room, clawing at the walls, or riddled with bullet-holes after trying to escape.”

Those were…gross fears. I wouldn’t do that. But I needed to get her off my back. I rolled my eyes, pried myself off of the floor, and stood up. I still couldn’t get over how much taller I was than her. I could push her down just by pressing hard on her forehead.

“Are you coming?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spot the author tract! Part #1/3. There's also one right below this little header, the tl;dr of it is _Gee, I don't like how much I relied on mental illness when I wrote this. Sorry about that!_ )
> 
> So, I've been dreading this chapter for a while, not because of what I wrote, but of what to put in this little box that I don't think a lot of people read anyway. Because of that, I'm relegating my screed to a pastebin.
> 
> http://pastebin.com/3NvZbA2Y


	63. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack gets it.

I stood there with Rebecca for a second or two, not moving. Everyone else was up here, now, I guess enjoying the sound of rain, maybe trying to forget everything they could about Russell and Franklin.

“Can I ask you something?” I looked at her, trying to be earnest.

She had her hands in the pockets of her slacks. It was the most casual I’ve seen her. “What is it?”

“How do you feel about…Russell, and Franklin?”

She looked at the floor for a second, then at everyone else that wasn’t paying attention to us. “I…if I can be honest, I’ve seen a lot of things that make death sort of…insignificant to me. I’ve seen reformed child soldiers in Mozambique, and these villages in more rural parts of Africa and Eastern Europe and rural Asia where death is just completely commonplace. I’ve dealt with people with these horrific terminal illnesses that…it just makes it sort of insignificant, like I said. Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘momento mori?”

I shook my head. “Is that Italian?”

“No, not quite. Latin. It means ‘remember that one day you will die.’ Something along those lines,” she looked up at the ceiling. “It’s not something I live my life by, by any means. It’s just something I have in the back of my head. Malcolm, Franklin, Samson, Dianna, Sophia, Russell…their deaths really didn’t faze me. I just felt like…it happened. They suffered through absolutely horrible ends, but at the same time, I just didn’t feel anything other than the slightest tinge of grief…” she smiled weakly. “I guess that makes me seem pretty detached, huh?”

I shook my head, though I didn’t know what to say. “It makes sense, like, where you’re coming from,” I looked around at everyone. I counted their heads. Ru…no. Sarah, Nancy, J.J., Gordon, Caroline, Weston, Edwin, me and Rebecca. Nine. We were down to nine. “I mean, when I…you know, I’ve always been a sissy when it comes to death. I don’t know why. I thought I was, anyway. Like, I couldn’t stand to look at roadkill, I couldn’t watch a few movies…sounds stupid for someone with a coffin on the back of his goddamned jacket, right?” I did a short little laugh. “But whenever I’ve seen someone die in here, I’ve never…like…reacted the same way. The only one I really felt like I was mourning was Dianna, since she…she was almost innocent. Russell was definitely innocent, but he was…he was…” I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I think it’s normal to be like that. People react to grief in different ways. Sometimes, like, say, if they had a long and painful illness, you might feel relieved, in a way.”

“Yeah.”

She looked down the hall, and I tried to look at the same thing. Caroline talking to Gordon with J.J. nearby.

“Are we going?” I asked.

“Yes.”

She started walking down the hall. I followed her. The rain was still falling against the ceiling. I guess it was the ceiling, anyway.

We passed by Nancy with her head in Sarah’s lap, Edwin lying on the floor, and Weston standing with his hands in his pockets, looking up. It was the first time we’ve even heard anything from the outside of this mansion, I guess.

We reached the three of them hanging by Caroline’s door.

“That can’t be good.” Gordon was saying. We were hearing the last few bits of the conversation, I guess.

“I said I’m fine.” Caroline refuted.

“Is everything okay?” Rebecca asked, looking at everyone curiously.

Gordon sighed. “Caroline doesn’t want painkillers for her leg.”

“I said I’m **_fine_**.”

“She says she’s fine.” J.J. said, sternly.

I rolled my eyes. “I think she’s fine.”

Caroline eyed me.

“Are you in pain?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes. I’m _always_ in pain because of this goddamned leg. But I’m not going to stoop as low as to inject myself with morphine or take pills. You know what happened the last time you gave me those? I ended up seeing spiders crawling out of the walls for five seconds _exactly_. But those five seconds were enough to make me want to never have them again. So I can manage.”

Gordon’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t tell me about that part!”

Caroline looked…surprisingly angry. “ _Now_ will you lay off about giving me morphine or whatever?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

Rebecca looked at me, then at Caroline. “Can we talk to you in private?”

Caroline eyed us. “May I ask why?”

Rebecca glanced at J.J. and Gordon, then kneeled by Caroline’s ear and started whispering. J.J. looked at me, did that ‘are you serious’ thing with her hand, and I shrugged. After a few seconds, Caroline’s eyes grew behind her glasses, and she faced me. I remembered when she broke her leg, her glasses were broken, too, but…I guess she had a spare pair. “I…I see…” she then turned to the other two people. “Can I be alone for a moment or two?”

“Uh…yeah…sure…” J.J. waved, and started walking away. Gordon did, too.

Caroline whirled around in her chair, then reached into her skirt and pulled out her I.D., placing it in the slot in her door and opening it.

“Uh…where were you…keeping…” Where could she be keeping her I.D.? That didn’t make sense.

“I have interior pockets on all of my skirts. Even my old school uniform ones. I never liked carrying a purse.” Caroline used her free leg to nudge open the door, and rolled into her room. Me and Rebecca followed.

The inside of Caroline’s room was completely clean, unlike mine, with the pile of shame. There weren’t any dirty clothes in her hamper, either. Smelled nicer, too. There was a wooden cross attached above her bed, and there were some pictures on her dressers that were turned down. Probably a better way of dealing with stolen pictures from your house than throwing them against your wall. When I noticed that Caroline had turned around in her chair towards Rebecca, I inched towards one of the frames and looked at it. It was Caroline at a seminar or something, maybe a class, with bright red hair, not tied in a braid. I quickly put it down before anyone could see me, though.

“Rebecca, would you please leave us alone for now?” Caroline asked politely. “This is private. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah,” Rebecca nodded. “I’ll see you two in a bit.” She exited the room, slowly closing the door.

Caroline sighed. “Do whatever that makes you comfortable. Tell me when you’re ready to begin.”

“What?”

‘I’m going to talk to you about…you don’t…” She stuttered, but I knew what she was trying to say.

I sat down on the bed, ran my hands through my still-too-long hair. “Yeah.”

“So…tell me about how you feel right now. At Russell’s death.”

“I…don’t know. I don’t know. I just…it’s just like…” I felt the back of my neck just to give my hands something to do, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell her everything. Fuck it.“It’s…like…he wanted to die, but he was innocent, and I don’t even know if he…wanted to die, right? I feel really…like…guilty. Like I did with Dianna…” I didn’t vote for Dianna to die, but she didn’t have to know that. And I still felt guilty, even if I didn’t make her die…

She nodded. “Russel’s admission certainly was a bombshell. And it happened barely an hour ago, too. It’s normal to feel conflicted about it. I am, too.”

I nodded.

“How about Franklin?”

I looked at her. “I don’t know. I’ve never had to see someone kill themselves before. It’s…depressing. Even if it was Franklin.”

She nodded. “He was…he certainly did a lot to dour everyone’s perceptions of him in his final moments, and I didn’t help with that. But he decided to remind us what happens when you neglect to treat someone as a person.”

“It hurts.”

“About…Dianna…how did you feel at her execution?”

I shook my head. It felt so long ago. I didn’t even know how to describe how I felt. “Like…like…like…I don’t understand it. She was a murderer. She didn’t know it, though. And she was always so…friendly to me and…even if she did love me. I thought she’d get better, y’know? Like, I didn’t like…how she was always so attached to me when she was alive. I don’t…”

“You’re conflicted.”

“Yeah.”

“Dianna was a dynamic person. She had so many differing personalities – not in the schizophrenic sense, but she seemed capable of switching between being friendly and warm, to being a completely destroyed and depressed individual at the slightest provocation. I’d say it’s normal to be a bit conflicted at her death. She committed an atrocity, and that might ruin how you think of her, so that’s another complication.”

I nodded. “And she ha-“

“No,” Caroline sternly said. “It wasn’t erotomania. It wasn’t _anything_ , as far as we know. And even if she did have it, she was still as human as you or me. She still had feelings, she had a life before now, she had friends, a family…she may even had had a significant other.”

“Sorry.”

Caroline paused. “If I may speak personally for a small bit, I feel awful for jumping the gun with those stupid little diagnoses. I most likely implicated Franklin’s death with them. I can’t imagine how many of our friends felt relieved of all things when he died, just because I called him schizophrenic. He wasn’t. I didn’t know if he hallucinated, I didn’t know if he went through spasms…I didn’t know. There are thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of people who believe in the Reindt Family conspiracy. Does that mean they’re all schizophrenic, too? Or are they just people who see things we don’t? And that knife…I’ve started to think that there may be some truth to his ideas. But do you think I’m schizophrenic?”

I shook my head. I could tell she felt torn up about it.

“Exactly.”

I nodded. I remember calling Dianna…crazy. After she died. I feel awful about it now. I…I don’t know. “Are you apologizing to people?”

“I already told Gordon and Joanne my thoughts.” She nodded, and then looked at me. “I’m sorry for going off on that tangent. Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever had any thoughts of violence? From before you came here?”

I shrugged. I knew where this was heading. As long as this was confidential, though, I could probably tell her. But she might hate me. “I’ve been pretty…stable, I guess. I wanted to beat up a few kids before for talking shit about me or my career or my mom, but…I’ve only actually done it once.”

She nodded. Her face was completely blank. “Have they gotten worse since this game started?”

I froze. Nancy’s neck. Those visions I had a few nights ago. That girl I stabbed with a knife. That moment I had in the elevator. “Yes,” I said completely blankly. “Did Rebecca tell you?”

“She told me about your rant about wanting to escape. And what she called…hallucinations.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Should she have?”

“Nothing,” I sighed. “So…those…” I kept looking at the white wood floor.

“Jack?”

“A couple of nights ago…the day before I think I, like, passed out in the T.V. room, I had this…I put my I.D. card into the door and I imagined that I was shoving this knife into this girl’s stomach. Like, I wasn’t…trying to think about that, but I did, and…it really fucked me up. I didn’t know if I’d be okay around…like…like, if I was going to stab someone…” I looked at her. She didn’t look shocked or horrified. She still had that completely straight face. “Then I ran into my room and collapsed into my bed and just…had these visions…”

“Visions of what?”

I shook my head. I tried to remember what I had imagined. It was like the day I tried painkillers. It was just…it was still in my head. “I thought about…slicing some person’s throat, and just wrapping my hands around this little kid’s throat and just strangling them, and then all the girls, everyone just told me how much they hated me…” I held my head, trying to make sure she didn’t see me.  “And…just how everyone should just kill themselves with drugs or just OD or something…” I was breathing faster, worse. She probably hated me now. She probably was afraid of me now. Just like in those dreams. I didn’t know if I should continue…with the part about Nancy, or that brief moment of absolute anger in the elevator, or…

“Was there anything else?”

I shook my head. I remembered how Nancy told me that she and Caroline braided – at least, they used to braid each other’s hair. I shouldn’t tell her about my fanta-no, that’s the wrong word. I didn’t want to strangle Nancy. It was just…like…something that invaded my head.

“Let me ask you something; were you ever diagnosed with anxiety?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’ve been diagnosed with anything.”

“Does that include physical disorders?”

I thought for a moment. “Yeah.”

Caroline tapped the arms of her wheelchair for a moment. “How were you feeling before you had these hallucinations?”

I looked up at her. She still didn’t have any emotion. “They weren’t hallucinations. I don’t think they were, anyway. That’s not how they felt.”

“That’s what Rebecca called them. That’s what it sounds like you’re describing.”

I shook my head. “No, no, like…I wasn’t…it wasn’t like you were seeing people in chains, hanging above you and screaming and all that…” I said, saying the first thing that came to mind. One of the things I’ve seen before when I first hallucinated for real. “But…like…it felt like I was _there_. That thing with the girl and the knife, that was a hallucination. But with these, it was like…I was the one strangling this girl, I was the one that…Christ…”

Caroline tapped her chair again. “Let me ask again – how were you feeling before you had those hallucinations?”

I shrugged. “Like…there were a million thoughts going around my head at once. I kept asking myself these questions, and I felt…hot…and also cold…and…”

She nodded. “I don’t know for certain, and, as I now know, I won’t…but…it sounds like a panic attack.”

“What? No. I don’t have anxiety. Whatever causes those. I’m sane.”

Caroline huffed loudly. “You say you envisioned yourself strangling a _child_ – not that you should be scared of that – and you then turn around and say you’re _sane_?!”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” I grunted, actually…shit, this was turning bad.

“Nothing. Nothing,” she sighed. “I’m just tired of the one or two people here that call themselves ‘sane’, like they’re trying to distinguish themselves from Dianna or Sophia or Franklin or whoever else. It’s just, I just think to myself,” she continued, getting actually really angry. “ _Do you even know what sane is? Is there such a thing as sane?’_ It’s a completely arrogant thing to say.”

“Oh, uh…sorry.”

She sat there, a sour look on her face. “Christ, this chair…ever since I got in it, I started to feel angry. But…that’s beside the point. I’m sorry for exploding at you and getting on these little tracts. What I meant to say was you can have an anxiety attack even if you don’t have anxiety. Granted, people with it may come across it quicker, but it’s something that can come without having that specific disorder.”

“I…alright.”

She sighed again. “I’m not a mental health expert. I’ve already said that my expertise is in consumer psychology, and mental illness is a hobby, maybe a sick fascination, of mine, but in my studies, I have heard of a few people experiencing incredible hallucinations after a panic attack. I think that’s what you just had.”

They weren’t hallucinations, but…”Alright.”

She nodded. “I…wouldn’t be worried about them. They’re just hallucinations, after all. They may just be things your mind made up when you were bored. Granted, they’re incredibly violent, but it’s not reflective of your psyche in any means. Just little imaginations. And as for your little outburst today…it may be isolation. It may be you just suffering a little bit of cabin fever. I think this pleasant rain may help with that.”

“I hope so.”

 “Is that all you wanted to see me about?”

I nodded.

“Good. Can you get the door for me?”

I nodded again, got up, tried to step around her chair, and opened the door.

“Thank you.” She wheeled out.

“Wait, uh…” I scratched my neck. “Thanks. For talking to me.”

She silently nodded, then went further into the hallway. I walked out after her, closing the door behind me.

I had heard the rain all throughout that little session, and I still heard it when I was in the hallway. Everyone was still out here. It felt…nice. That we were all clustering together now.

I looked at Russell’s door, right ahead of me. There was a blood-colored X on it, like…more than a few others, but the lines of the x had little lines across it, sort of like…yeah, it was the grips on a football. I shook my head.

I walked out into the hallway, hands in my pockets, looking down. The cool air felt nice. The rain sounds felt okay. The feeling of…it was normal, what I just had. But I still wasn’t normal if I was thinking of strangling Nancy or just wanted to kill everyone. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? Why was all of this happening to me? Why was I the one that kept fainting and getting shocked and having all this bad shit happen to me? Why was…was God up there, trying to make me feel bad? Was He trying to make me atone for something I’ve done? Was He just…fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I saw Rebecca standing nearby, in the little divet across from the stairwell door. Why was I always hanging out with her? Why was she always hanging out with me? She always said it was because she trusted me, that she just…she was my friend. Don’t take her for granted. But…still…I felt a little bit…weird.

I walked up to her.

“Is everything alright?” she asked me, smiling weakly.

I rubbed my hand across my face. “Panic attack hallucinations.”

“So you didn’t get confirmation about your ‘I need to get out’ rant?”

“She thinks I’m just going crazy from the isolation or something. Cabin fever.”

“So you’re sane?”

“Don’t call me that.” I groaned, though I sort of believed it.

“Why not?”

“Sane people don’t think about wanting to cut up a little girl, do they?”

She curled her lips inward. “You didn’t tell…you’re still…nevermind.”

“Whatever.” I looked away at the first person I saw. Sarah looked like she was asleep with Nancy’s, also asleep, head in her lap. It wasn’t smart to sleep out in the open like that.

“They get along good together.” Rebecca mused.

“Yeah.”

“Sort of like us.”

“I guess…is that why you’re always so attached to me?”

“I’m…I’m not sure. It’s platonic, if that’s what you’re wondering. And there’s a little part of me that…sort of makes me think I’m taking care of you most of the time. But you’re a good person. Even if you’re suffering from these…afflictions. Just because you think about death a lot doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy.”

I looked down at the floor. “I still feel like a bad guy.”

“Why?”

“I just…I…I either feel fragile, like I can collapse at any second…or…” I bit my tongue for a second. “Nevermind.”

“Did you at least talk to Caroline about it?”

“Yeah.” I lied.

We stood there silent for a few seconds. I watched Sarah’s eyes briefly open, then her smiling really warmly at Nancy, rubbing her back. It…that little scene made me feel a bit better.

She sighed. “I’m still trying to make sense of everything, in case you’re wondering. I’m trying to run through all these ideas in my head, about who’s behind this and why…but I don’t know…anything. You remember that room we broke into? I figured that was some sort of monitoring station for our rooms. Maybe some sort of breaker room, if the panels on the wall were anything to go by. And you know that locked door in the pool wing? I’m still not sure what’s behind that. I feel like – I have been feeling like nothing is making sense.”

“I don’t know, either. Just…like…nothing,” I rolled my head around my neck for a second, trying to give myself something to do. “Man, you’re so much smarter than I am. You’re just, like…some sort of detective. I’m just your sidekick.”

“I doubt that…but even if you were my sidekick, well, you make a damn brave and strong one. And supportive. Even if I have to baby you at times.”

I smiled. I couldn’t remember anything brave I’ve done since I came here.

“Oh, come on, now. Do you remember not even two hours ago when you yelled at Mr. Producer in the trial?” she said, reading my mind. “Cannonballing in the pool that might as well have been boiling hot? And I’ve heard people tell me that you stood up for me after I’ve had my outbursts.”

I nodded. “You’re not as angrier now.”

“Meditation. Mindfullness. It…helps. A little bit.”

I nodded again. I felt calmer now. Warmer. Cooler. More…at ease.

Rebecca scratched her shoulder. I could tell she was getting a bit tired of me standing in front of her. “I’m a bit hungry. I think I’ll go find something to eat…are you coming?”

I shook my head. I should probably check on those tres laches, but being in my bedroom might give me incentive to just go to bed.

“Well…I’ll try to bring you back something. I’m curious to see what survived the heat wave. Uh, out of all the stuff I got as a gift. I’ll bring up whatever’s left…I don’t think anyone’s moving from the rain for a while.”

“Okay.”

She smiled at me again and left silently, but not quickly. I looked at everyone else in the room. Weston was sitting on the floor, looking like he was smiling at nothing. Edwin looked asleep, and Nancy was definitely asleep, still in Sarah’s lap, which she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Sarah looked almost happy, smiling a small smile, even if her eyes looked tired. Caroline was out of her room, sitting by her door with a book in her lap. Gordon and J.J…I couldn’t seem them, but I could hear their faint voices around the corner.

I sat down in the little divet, against the wall. I listened to the rain. I closed my eyes. I listened more. I closed my eyes again.

They eventually stayed closed for a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spot the author tract! Parts 2-3 of 3[?])
> 
> So I'm a little bit late this time, but that's because I was off being bored around my house. Not much to say about it except more rectifying what I've probably come off as.


	64. Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang gets a little closer to nature.

I sat there against the wall, maybe sleeping, maybe just closing my eyes. I listened to J.J. and Caroline and Gordon talk to themselves, muffled enough that I couldn’t make out anything. Everyone else was quiet.

The door opened, and I jerked my eyes open, like it came from behind me or something, but it was the opposite end of the room. Rebecca. Carrying that cardboard box full of…stuff. I think. Food.

She walked to the center of the hallway and sat down next to Edwin, who was laying on the floor, and Weston, who was just leaning against a nearby wall. Caroline, J.J., and Gordon walked over. Sarah and Nancy were still sort of asleep. I slowly got to my feet and walked over to her.

“How much survived the heat wave?” Gordon asked.

“Hm…” she dug into the box, and pulled out a bag of those soda can things. They were all melted together in a big multicolored blob. I shrugged, motioned for her to hand over the chunk of rainbow, she did, and I bit into it for almost no reason.

Well, there was one reason. I wanted to cheer everybody up. I don’t think anybody noticed, or even cared.

I chewed, running my tongue over the hunk of gummy substance that, and I started hating myself. It tasted like what would happen if you went up to a convenience store soda fountain and put every damn flavor in the same cup. Not that I would know. Lemon lime mixed with cola and root beer. As I chewed, I couldn’t help but wince at every flood of ‘flavor’ that covered my taste buds. And, to top it all off, it all had this stale aftertaste.

“How does it taste?” Weston asked me, innocently.

My face wrinkled up. “Like stale gummies.”

Gordon shook his head.

“So…” Rebecca sighed. “No good?”

“Nope.” I handed over the big brick of awful to Rebecca, and she slid it back into the bag and set it down into the box.

“What else do we have?” I asked.

Rebecca dug around. By this time, Sarah and Nancy were next to us, both looking tired. She pulled out another mass of gummies. “These are the bears, I think.”

I motioned for her to hand it over. It’d probably taste better than the terrible flavoring of the soda cans. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, then shook her head.

“Hand it over.”

“Jack, are you seriously going to…” Sarah began, but Rebecca had already relented and put it in my hands.

“Yeah. I’m seriously going to,” I said, then bit into it. It was also stale, but since gummy bears usually don’t have flavor of any kind other than ‘generic fruit’, it was just stale and chewy. I quickly chewed it up and sent it down my throat. “Better.”

“O…kay…I guess that’s out, too,” Sarah mumbled. Rebecca put out her hand so I could hand back the hunk of slighty-okay chewy nothingness. I shook my head and took another bite.

“Well, what else is in there?” J.J. looked into the box. “What’re those cookies?”

Rebecca picked up the last item. It was a brown box with a transparent ‘window’ on it showing around six bright yellow cookies with white powder on them. “Gooey butter cake cookies.”

“That…what in the hell is that?” J.J. looked curiously at the box. “Cake…cookies?”

“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed, apparently woken up. “They’re from St. Louis! And they’re really gooey and they taste squishy and really buttery!”

Edwin sighed, still lying on the ground, his arms and legs spread out so he looked like a star. “Yeah, calling something ‘squishy’ really makes me want to shove it in my fucking face.”

Nancy groaned.

“I’ll try one.” Caroline said. She stuck out her hand, and Rebecca gingerly placed a cookie in it. She bit into it, messed with it inside her mouth, her face conflicted.

“How is it?” Gordon asked.

“It’s…certainly chewy…” she mumbled, her mouth full. “Even if it’s been in a box for a few days…”

“Lemme try one!” Nancy grabbed one from the box and bit a piece out, chewing and smiling. “Just as good as…”

“Anyone else want one? Because…well, they’re all the fresh, non-bad food we have here…” Rebecca showed off the box with a flourish. Nobody said they wanted any. She sighed. “Jack, you can have the rest of those gummy ‘bears’, I’ll toss these soda things, and…hm…I’ll just put these in the kitchen, I suppose. You can have one if you want one.” She put the soda block and the box of cookies back in the bigger box, and started making her way downstairs.

I bit into the block again. The whole thing would probably take me another hour to eat. I kept chewing, held it out to anyone else that wanted one. They all shook their heads. Pansies.

Sarah sighed. “Well…what else is there to do today?”

I shrugged.

“Uh…hm…” Weston scratched his chin. No hairs. Unlike mine. Should probably shave.

“Don’t we get a new place to go to after death? Like, when people die or some shit.” Edwin mumbled.

I saw Nancy nod to herself.

“Where would we go, though?” Gordon sighed. “I don’t think there’s another place.”

“There’s that locked door in the pool hallway. And…uh…” I sighed, trying to think of where I’ve actually seen a locked door that wasn’t up here, the one we broke into, or that other one.

“We can wait until Rebecca comes back, and then we can explore. That sound good?” J.J. asked.

I nodded. Everyone else said some sort of agreement.

We waited a minute or two for Rebecca to come back up, no longer carrying a box. Edwin got off the floor, stretched a bit.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked.

“We’re gonna head downstairs to see what new place’s opened up.” Gordon said, walking to the door with Edwin.

Rebecca sighed lightly. “If only I knew that beforehand.” she mumbled, then turned around.

We all ended up downstairs. We had to wait a little bit for J.J. to carry Caroline down. Carry-line. No, wait, that’s awful. Way fucking awful. For a lot of reasons. Didn’t you see someone just fucking die? Have some respect.

“So, where would this new place be?” Rebecca asked nobody in particular.

I saw the gears turn in Caroline’s head, then she nodded. “There’s locked doors at the end of either hallway.”

I tried to think about that. I couldn’t.

“Oh,  yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about…” Gordon said, making me feel dumber. He walked towards the leftmost hallway. I shrugged, walked with him.

The nine or so of us went to the pool hallway, trying that one locked door just because, which didn’t give, though that was probably because we tried to push it open without using the knob, and we went to the one at the far end of the hallway. The one with the I and the V on it.

Everybody looked at me, and I knew what they wanted me to do. I sighed, stepped forward, and put my hand on the knob. It turned pretty easily. I looked back at the 8 or so or 9 or whatever people behind me, nodded, and turned it all the way and opened it.

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was beyond the door.

It was…grass. Grass on an uneven ground speckled with little plants, a tree, and with clear blue sky beyond the little terrace we were on. The entire place was bathed with warm sunlight, bright and orange, and there was the sound of rushing water coming from the ground, apparently coming from a small stream that ran from the…

Wall.

It was fake.

The grass was plastic turf. The plants were plastic, with this really gross sheen on them, and the tree was fake with carved bark. The walls were just painted blue, but they were curved, and at the top of the circle was covered in LED lights.

“Jack? What is it?”

I took a step forward into the fake park, and another. The plastic strands of grass got crushed under my feet. My skin got covered in the fake light. I stared into the fake sky wall for a while, then at a fake daisy patch that stared back at me with its fake plastic shine.

The air around me got filled with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and all that shit. I didn’t care.

This was fake. This was the one good thing that could’ve happened to us. Fresh air, fresh water, plants, grass…

We didn’t deserve better.

I looked at everyone. They were all enjoying it. Finding good in the bad or something. Whatever.

I walked over the creek, next to a fake patch of fluffy flowers that were just fluffs of cotton or something, and I sat next to the wall.

“Jack, have you seen the flowers yet?” Nancy said, bouncing over to me with one of them in her hand. Sarah was standing next to her, still looking around in awe.

“They’re fake.”

“Well, yeah, but they smell like the real thing!” she put the one she was holding next to me nose. I inhaled. They smelled like flower.

I shrugged.

“This place is…” Sarah started, looking around, awestruck.

“Fake.” I finished for her.

“Oh, shut up. Don’t be so negative. It’s the closest we got to actually sitting outside.”

I sighed. “I guess.”

They walked away, Nancy still sniffing the flower, and I saw her weave it into her hair before she disappeared behind the tree.

I sat there. My mind drifted. I thought of…stuff. Where my mom was. Where any of my old friends were. What’s going on in my town. What’s going on in Malcolm’s town. What was going on at Columbia National Academy. What was going on with Benjamin Gerald. What was going on with God. Where we went when we died. If we felt the pain – like, we felt it all at once, or if we just shut off before we could feel it. What happens to our mind when we die if there’s no Heaven or Hell. How we can just stop existing. What it’s like to stop existing. How that’s even possible – to just cease living. To just not even be able to feel or think or even comprehend anything anymore. To just…disappear.

I felt like I would know how it felt pretty soon.

I didn’t know how late it was. I just got up and left. I felt awful. This day was too goddamned long. It was a goddamned rollercoaster of emotion. It was a fucking shitshow. I hated it. I hated this fucking…I just hate.

I looked around to see if anyone noticed me, smiled when nobody did, and exited the fake park, heading down the hallway, the other hallway, up the stairs, down the last hallway, shoved my I.D. into the slot, and entered my room.

This would probably be the first time I’d actually be able to sleep regularly. It was cool now. It wasn’t sweat-inducing heat now.

I turned off the lights, sat on my bed, took off most of my clothes except for my shirt and boxers, and curled up in bed, then pulled up my covers from the floor, shoved a gun in my mouth, and shot my brain so that it would shut up and I could finally get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT  
> So the past two weekends I've either been procrastinating or on vacation and I didn't even finish a chapter for that long. JESUS CHRIST.  
> I literally just finished this one. I'M SORRY. I KNOW I SUCK BUT I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME I LOVE YOU


	65. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack tries to do something good.

“Good morning, my little ticking time bombs! How about yesterday, huh? The switchboards are still lighting up about it. Let’s make today entertaining for our viewers at home!”

I groaned and rolled out of my bed, sitting upright with my feed on the floor, then pulled myself out and leaned against the wall for a moment or two, not sure why. Everything had hit me a long time ago, but I was still feeling the recoil.

I pulled out a pair of pants from my hamper, probably the first pair that I wore, along with an old t-shirt, socks, jacket, whatever, did the rest, exited my room.

It was cooler now. It had been for a while. Everything felt so long ago. It was less than 12 hours since. Everyone’s seemed to…forget it. Almost. That’s how it felt. Like…when people started flooding into the fake park yesterday. They seemed…happy. But Russell just…and Franklin…and…

They were faking it.

Yeah.

But why couldn’t I?

I sighed, stuck my hands in my pockets, and lurched down the hall. I turned the corner, opened the door, went down the stairs, and hung around in the T hallway. I didn’t know what else to do.

J.J. and Caroline walked past me. I nodded at them. They didn’t see me. Gordon wasn’t too far after, then Rebecca, then Weston, Sarah and Nancy next. Edwin wasn’t here. Good. I guess.

I hung around the hallway as everyone else filtered into the dining room. After a minute, Gordon came around the corner. “Are…you coming, dude?”

I paused, then shook my head without knowing why. He nodded and went back in.

Two minutes went past. Three. Four. Weston came out. I stared at him.

“Edwin hasn’t come back down yet…we’re a bit worried about him.” He answered me without me having to ask.

“Why?”

He stammered.

“Go ahead.”

Weston smiled awkwardly and waved goodbye as he left.

I walked around, not sure where to go. I ended up in the hallway with the game room and the closet and all that, then realized there wasn’t anything for me here, and there never was. I didn’t want any more clothes. I didn’t want a weapon.

I was about to turn around when the door started banging. Loudly. Like someone was hitting it hard, or something like that. I…I didn’t know what it was. Why would someone be…

I slowly approached it, inching forward, until it burst open. Caroline. She was wheeling hard, getting as far into the hallway as she could, breathing fast, leaning forward like she was…what was wrong with her?

“Is everything okay?” I tried to ask loudly as she wheeled beyond me. This…didn’t seem good. At all. Did someone just snap and go on the loose? Is there something dangerous? Were the guns going haywire? Did someone break in from outside? There were too many questions, too possible outcomes, and I felt them all bouncing inside my skull like flies in a jar trap.

Caroline stopped in her tracks. She started sputtering, and then…she buried her face in her hands and just started…sobbing.

I rushed towards her, one arm on the chair, trying to figure out what to do. She wasn’t okay. But…I didn’t know why. I…

I didn’t know.

“ _I…just can’t…I can’t do this, I can’t…_ ”

“Caroline, just…” I had to get my thoughts in order. I couldn’t let her just break down. Not now! “Listen to me. You’re the smartest person here. We can’t just have –“

“ ** _SHUT UP!_** ” she yelled, tears making rivers in her face. “You don’t know what it’s like to be where I am! Do you know what it’s like to have a broken leg that…it just _hurts_ , it hurts…it hurts, and I…everyone treats me like a _baby_ , some _retard_ , and I have to be carried, and it’s all _do you hurt_ and _are you tired_ and I’m in so much pain…and the stress, and I could just be…I’m tired of this…I just want to…”

My heart stopped when she began that thought. “Caroline, just, please, calm down, you’re…we’re your friends, nobody would…nobody would…”

She grabbed my hand that was hovering in front of her, bringing it closer to her neck. “Please, I…” she started again, talking through tears. “ _I just want to…get it over…I can’t…I’m so tired, I’m so…I’m in so much…I hurt…and…I…please, just…cut it...strang...do it…_ ”

“No! Fuck, I’m not going to do that! I can’t…”

yes you can

“No, I’m not going to ki…I…”

its easy. strangle her. youre alone. it’ll be simple.

“I can’t do that, I can’t…I’m not going…to…”

You’ve thought about it. She’s in pain. She wants to die. It’s the right thing to do. If you do it right, nobody would convict you.

I stared at her. Her painful-looking eyes. The tears going down her face. The clenched teeth.  Her neck. Slender. Soft.

I felt something rising in my stomach, and I gulped it down. I started feeling hot. I started sweating. M eyes grew, my pupils shrunk.

I eased my way out of her grip. I placed my two hands around her neck.

It’s the right thing to do.

It had to be.

My eyes grew hot and wet, some wet things falling down my cheeks, and I moved my thumbs around to find her bump, wherever that was, and I…pressed down. Her face grew puffier, more than it already was, my fists raised her neck a little, her chin raised, her mouth started wincing, the more I pressed, the more her eyes went wild, blinking rapidly, changing size and shape, and I saw mirrors in her eyes that reflected a murderer, a bloodthirsty psychopath with a tooth-filled grimace and wild, angry eyes, and I wanted to smash in those little mirrors until they were bloody and bursting. I kept squeezing. Squeezing. Until my own throat had something against it, something hard, warm, rigid, and I started coughing, grimacing, and something pulled me away, I felt the weight of the world slam me to the ground hard, my spine broke into a million little pieces, and bullets started hitting me in the face, big, thick ones, breaking my teeth, beating my skull into a bloody pulp, my eyes became flat, my nose broke, my ears and my mouth became waterfalls of blood and skin, until I was finally dead.

WHAT THE HELL

JOANNE STOP

WERE

JOANNE

YOU

JOANNE

TRYING TO

_I MADE HIM DO IT_

The bullets stopped.

I saw light. Grey. A gun. One that wasn’t pointed at me. Flesh. A face. A woman’s face. A woman’s face that was still rugged.

Joanne looked at me. Her hair was hanging down from her face, making a short curtain.

“Did…she…”

I nodded.

“She wanted you to…strangle…”

I wiped blood from my mouth. “Yeah…I…”

J.J. slowly stood up from my torso, and my body felt too broken and bloodied to do anything, yet I still found the energy to pry myself up and sit, leaning forward. I saw my blood drip down from the floor. My face still felt intact. There weren’t any teeth missing. It was just my mouth. I…don’t know why I did. There was a bit of flesh floating under my tongue. I didn’t want to think about it.

Joanne looked at me, than at Caroline, then at me, then at the floor. She wiped something from her face.

“I…after I…had my outburst, I…tried to get away, and I found…I ran into…” Caroline sputtered. “I was crying, and I wasn’t…I wasn’t…I asked him to…”

I spat out the bit of flesh into my hand, then quickly got rid of it. It was probably lip. Or tongue. I didn’t want to think about it.

“And you…tried to…” J.J. muttered, looking at me with a mix of pity and anger.

I nodded.

I saw J.J. deflate, her shoulders descending, and her face growing more sad.

“I’m, I, I’m…” The pain was making it hard to get my thoughts in order. Only a little bit, though. This wasn’t the worst I’ve been through. “I thought it was the okay thing to do.”

Neither of them said anything.

“I’m sorry.”

Caroline wiped what looked like the last bit of tears from her cheeks. When she cried, her face puffed up. I hope that I wouldn’t see it anymore.  “I was the one that tempted you to…and…I’m the one at fault.”

J.J. looked at her. I didn’t know what her face was conveying.

“It’s…don’t…” Caroline swallowed loudly. “Joanne, it’s not something to be confused over. I’m the one who’s responsible. I regret it now. I’m the one to blame.”

“But he was the one who was about to kill you!”

“Because I told him to when I was breaking down.”

J.J. shook her head.

I didn’t know what to say.

She looked at me.

“You…”

I nodded.

“I’m going to hate myself for this. You tripped backwards in the game room.”

I nodded again.

“And we found you.”

I paused. I didn’t feel alright. Not just because of my mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Why?”

I stared ahead. The bile started rising from my throat again. I felt my blood throb. I felt my hands grasp the air. I felt chains push me down like I was being dragged to Hell.

“You tripped. That’s it.”

I sighed. “Okay.”

I wasn’t okay.

J.J. slung my arm around her shoulders, though when I saw her face I could see she was absolutely disgusted with me. We walked. Past the door. I heard Caroline’s wheels go behind us. I heard a sniffle from her every few seconds.

We kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the kind of chapter you get when I listen to extended Silent Hill soundtracks in order to get me to write an entire chapter in about two hours. I hope it gives everyone that warm, fuzzy feeling inside!


	66. Bled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack realizes how things are going.

Me and J.J. walked silently down the halls, me sort of leaning on her shoulder, with Caroline following behind. Every once in a while, she sniffled. J.J. was staring at me with hate-filled eyes.

It then dawned on me.

Everyone saw that.

The cameras, they were recording,  They were broadcasting. Absolutely everyone saw that. The people watching online, the people watching at home, they all fucking saw me try and _choke out_ someone, someone who want…

No, don’t try to make it right in your head. You just tried to kill someone.

You just tried to _kill_ someone.

Blood was rising in my throat and out my nostrils. I choked it back down.

I was too out of it to realize what was happening by the time we met Gordon. My body was covered in pain and needles that dug into my skin. Five minutes later I was alone and chewing on a cotton ball inside my mouth. I was laying on the fake grass in the fake park. I thought about drowning myself in the water. Everyone had already seen me try and kill a girl. I couldn’t go back outside. I couldn’t leave this place. Nobody would accept me. I was an attempted murderer. I had no life anymore. God had left my body. The light from the LEDS above me were searing my eyes and making me go blind. I deserved it. Sarah and Nancy came in. They sat under the tree and babbled about whatever. I heard Malcolm’s footsteps around my head. I chewed on the cotton until it tasted purely of metal and blood. Soon, I was alone. Lights danced in my eyes. My bones were about to crack. My blood was running out. I curled over and spat out the cotton, staining the grass as it bounced and rolled away. The water looked nice. I started crying, and I didn’t know why. It was probably because I was about to die.

I half-expected someone, maybe Rebecca, to show up and help me, bring me to the infirmary, do something.

The door didn’t open. There weren’t any footsteps around my head except for the ones of the people who weren’t existing anymore.

My eyes started growing heavier. I started breathing slower. My limbs started to sink into the soft ground.

Soon, it became dark.

* * *

 

I heard footsteps. Real ones, this time.

I opened my eyes slowly. In front of me were a pair of perfectly manicured feet in sandals. I looked up. Weston.

He was looking at me…not…regularly. His mouth was coiled in a sly smile, like he was planning something. His hair was hanging loose a little bit.

“What’re you doing?” I slurred out.

Weston suddenly and immediately corrected himself. He stood back up straight, his smile becoming regular, and he giggled a little bit, though it didn’t come off as creepy. “Oh, I just saw you sleeping here, and I just wanted to know if everything was alright?”

I paused.

“You seem a bit roughed-up.”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay!”

He left as soon as I said that.

I was tired. I used my arm as a pillow and went back to sleep. Hopefully for the last time.

* * *

 

Everything was cold. My face was freezing. There was a sort of…sensation in my ears.

Maybe I was hearing the voice of God. His words were like liquid, pouring into my brain like a rushing river, clean and pure, and His hands were touching my face, cold, formless, welcoming.

Instead of His face, I saw a pair of tennis shoes, followed by my eyes starting to sting from something invading their flesh.

“AH FUCK” I screamed, wiping my eyes and face, spreading water everywhere. My skin was still cold as ice.

 _“Really?”_ Rebecca asked, sounding like a disappointed mom. “Why are you sleeping here, of all places? Do you know how easy it is for someone to just walk up and slice your throat?”

I stayed sitting on the floor, slumped over.

“Jack, come on, at least have _some_ sense of self-preservation.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Yes. You do.”

“No, you…I just…” I mumbled, trying to get the words right, not sure of anything anymore.

“Come on, stand up.”

“Go away.”

She huffed loudly. “Fine. Whenever you’re feeling more agreeable, come find me.”

That wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

She stormed off, feet crushing grass, the door slammed, and I tried to curl back up, but the pain in my joints was keeping me from doing it too well.

I just closed my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be a good summary of how I felt the last two weeks.   
> Sorry for the short chapter. Thing'll pick up next time. Or not. I'm still debating in my head if I want a buffer day of Free Times and general character development or just jump right the fuck into the murder. I don't know. Does anyone have an opinion?


	67. Social

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack talks and talks and talks.

I stared up at the fake blue sky and tried to blind myself on the lights.

I had woken up a few minutes ago. My pain was gone. I still felt like I should die. I felt numb. I couldn’t care about anything.

After a little bit, there was footsteps crunching the grass on the ground, and two bodies resting and sighing. The tree I was resting against creaked.

Nancy and Sarah were talking. I didn’t care. I didn’t listen.

I tried not to listen.

“I…still don’t know…”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, but it’ll come out sooner or later.”

“What do you mean?”

“The dirt these people are digging up, it’s…they’ll figure it out and they’ll air it, or something.”

I heard Nancy mumble something to herself.

“It’s okay.”

“I…don’t want to get…”

“Your aunt, though. She likes you for who you are, right?”

“But my parents…”

“If your parents hate you for being gay, than you shouldn’t like them, either.”

 _What_.

My eyes went wide. Nancy was…

I tried to keep quiet.

“But, I…I still love them, and…”

“But they don’t accept you, right?”

There was silence.

“Uh…listen, you can still love them. Maybe they’ll come around, right? You’ll see them again.”

Nancy stayed silent for a few moments. ”Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment. The only sound was the rushing water.

“I’m gonna go grab some stuff,” Sarah said. I heard the sound of denim folding and grass crinkling. “You coming?”

Nancy stayed silent. I heard more crass being crushed, then the door closing.

I…

I wanted to talk to her, but…

I clutched my hand, opened it, and did it again, waiting for me to see blood. There wasn’t any.

I sighed.

“Nancy,” I whispered, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t respond. God, I sounded like shit. “Nancy?”

She made a little noise. “Huh? Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“I…didn’t know you were there…”

“I am.”

She stayed silent.

“Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, trying to sound nice.

“Uhm…I guess…” she scooted over next to me, on the opposite side of the tree.

I looked at the ground for a second, not really sure how to broach the subject. “I heard what you said.”

I looked up and saw her face drain of color. “H-how much? D-did you…” she said, putting her finger to her mouth, and she started sputtering. “Oh, no, no, God, no, you weren’t supposed to hear that - you weren’t…no…” she wiped her eyes, making me start thinking of something to say. “I-I…God, I’m…”

I leaned forward, trying to put a hand between us as…fuck, I don’t know. A sign of goodwill. Solidarity. Something. “Nancy, listen. It’s okay. I don’t care. I just…”

She looked at me pitifully, mumbling something.

“Not, like…I don’t care, but not in a rude way. It’s…because you’re…”

I had no idea what to say.

I sighed, leaning back against the tree, wiping my face with my hand. Fuck. I give up.

Nancy stayed silent for a moment. “Jack…are you…”

I sighed, knowing what she was going to say. “I don’t know.”

“W-what do you mean?”

I sighed. “I just…I haven’t felt anything. I know when someone’s…like, attractive, or…if they’re, uh, cute or whatever, but I just…don’t feel anything else.”

Nancy played with her fingers a little bit. I still felt awful. I tried to kill someone a while ago, right? And…here I was trying to console someone else, and…I felt fake. Fake as the air around me. I heard a door open. She pulled her knees to her chest. “You don’t hate me…do you?”

“Why would I?”

She sat silent for a minute. “Because everyone else did.”

I looked at the little strands of green plastic between my legs. “What do you mean?” I asked, not sure what else to do.

Sarah walked up to us, slowly sitting down on the grass near us. “Why don’t…” she sighed, patting Nancy on the back. “Why don’t you tell him the whole story? If you want to, of course.”

Nancy plucked at the elastic in her socks, pulling off loose strands. “I-I…I…I don’t know where to…” she gulped audibly. I leaned forward to show that I actually cared. “I went to Catholic schools my whole life…girl’s schools…and I always felt…” she sniffled. “I felt weird feelings to everyone else…and…whenever I went to a summer camp, I saw the girls in swimsuits, and…I just…and when I was in the Arbor Club, too…”

I nodded, doing the thing with my hand again. “So you always knew?”

“I didn’t feel the same way when I saw boys…I don’t know…” she sniffled again. “I always felt it was wrong, so-so I just tried to keep away from everyone else so I didn’t have to see them in the locker room, o-or…it wasn’t ‘til I looked up how I felt on the Internet to figure out it was ok-okay…and it was normal…I guess…”

“It is. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” Sarah pat the Scout’s knee.

 “Yeah…” Nancy nodded. “And…but…I told my Aunt, she was a behavioral helper, and she told me it was okay, and I told my parents, at Thanksgiving, and…” her face tightened up, her eyes becoming completely closed, and her mouth turned to a wide frown. “They started…yelling…they said…they wanted to turn me into-turn me-give me to this camp that’d…that’d…” she closed herself in, breathing deeper and deeper.

I glanced at Sarah, mouthing ‘camps’. She sighed. “It’s a long story.”

I didn’t want to know the answer.

Nancy whimpered a little bit as Sarah rubbed her back.

“I’m…I…’ it was hard to put words into my mouth. “Uh…hey, I’m really…” fuck, no, why would you be sorry? You didn’t do it. I just shut up.

Sarah sighed. “It’s okay.” I heard Nancy exhale a little bit.

I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t know what else to say at that.

Sarah tapped Nancy on the shoulder, then looked at me without speaking up. I didn’t know if she was angry at me for prodding or not.

I got up without bringing up the fact that I was getting up, and moved to the door.

“Where are you going?” Sarah gently asked.

“Around.” That didn’t even make sense, but I didn’t care.

There was a bit of silence, then – “Okay.”

I got out of the room I didn’t even know the name of into the hallway where I tried to murder someone, where someone was murdered, where I got the shit beaten out of me, where I could just grab something off the wall to kill someone…murder, death, kill. That’s all I could think about these days. I felt every time my blood went through my veins, and if I stared at someone hard enough, I could see it pumping through theirs, and there was a part of me that wanted to pierce it and spill. I felt that I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

I had already failed to.

I kept walking along the floor of this plane in space, not sure why when I had already decided I had given up a few hours ago, but…

I didn’t feel determination. I didn’t feel perseverance, I just wanted something to do.

I had always been active, mindlessly so, and whenever I was inactive it always felt _wrong_. I was always in motion. I just spent a few hours on the floor, just plain giving up, and now I just had to get back in the motions.

I saw Caroline. She eyed me, not talking, not interacting with me. Just silently passing judgment on me. Thanks.

What rooms haven’t I been in recently? I remembered the TV room was a thing. Okay. Fine. Whatever.

I felt the cold door handle, opened it. Nobody was in there except for Edwin, in the back, sitting at a table, moving chess pieces around.

Fuck it.

“Hey.” I walked up to him as quietly as possible.

He turned to me silently, then returned to his not-game.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Because I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Why don’t you hang out with your girlfriend?” he said,  putting unnecessary stress on the ‘girl’ part of it.

“She’s not m-“ I started, then grunted. I wanted to know something. “Look, why the fuck do you hate her so much, anyway?”

He turned to me, sneering. “Why the fuck not?”

“You should have a pretty good reason.”

“I don’t.”

“So you hate her just because you want to hate her?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Fuck off.”

I turned around as soon as the idea of clocking him in his smug fucking jaw and watching his teeth and blood spatter against that dumb fucking chessboard, and I was about to walk away before I heard him audible cringe.

“I have reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Take a seat.”

I sighed, then sat on the opposite side of him at  the table, leaning back in my chair, hands in my pockets.

“So, I had this friend from elementary school to middle school, pretty much. Girl. Pretty as hell. We did everything together. Inseparable. She was the greatest person I knew. Looked like Rebecca, same skin color and eyes and everything.”

“Then what?”

He grimaced. “Hormones. Testosterone or whatever girls have in them. Freshman year of high school, people started saying we were boyfriend and girlfriend, she didn’t like that, she pretty much told me off in front of everybody, hung out with people outside of my social standing, said she didn’t want no fucking smartass who pushed little pieces of wood around on a table.”

“So…you hate Rebecca because she reminds her of your friend?

“No, fuck no. Maybe. But I spent _all my life_ with her, growing, just…having a best friend, no goal in mind, and within a month she can turn her back on me and denounce me…like, fuck, what would you do if that happened to you?”

I couldn’t think of anything.

“Yeah. So you spend all this time just…like, fuck, why would you do anything else? Why would you try to do that again? Why would you even _bother_ trying to get another friend if the next day they could tell you you’re the worst fucking thing that happened to them? It’s worthless. Fucking worthless. So I’m not bothering with it anymore. Fuck everyone. If they’re gonna stab me in the goddamned back, I don’t need it.”

I didn’t say anything. Let him vent.

“Yeah. It’s stupid. But I’m tired of it. Once is enough.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

He stopped speaking or moving pieces around. “Yeah.”

Neither of us said anything for a little bit.

“I don’t…hate her. Really,” He said, shrugging a small bit. “But whenever I see her, it’s just a knee jerk reaction, right?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed. “Do you want to play or something?”

“I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you.”

“I’m good.”

“Alright.”

I stood up at the table, nodded, and left, though I wasn’t sure why I decided to go. Whatever.

I hated today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new form of Free Time...you may call it a FREE 2.0ME or something fuck I don't care call it whatever.  
> (Not to say I don't care about this fic. I've just hit sort of a slump with writing it.)


	68. Bloodshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has a staring contest.

I stepped out of the T.V. room. My head and my heart and every other part of my body felt conflicted about…everything. It was either numbness or confusion.

Nobody else was around in the hallway. I guess I was expecting that.

The cameras were glaring at me. I looked at them, and I saw the lens retract and spin. I could hear the mechanical whirring in my head, I could see the servos behind the lens, and I could see myself in the glass.

I wanted to try something.

I winced, exhaled, then sneered at the camera. It saw everything. Let’s give it something to look at.

I walked in front of the camera’s gaze, right in front of its area, and I looked up. It swirled it’s lens and stared at me.

My eyes met its lens. The red recording light stared down at me, piercing my pupils like a laser. We stared at each other. I imagined the people in the background, behind the camera, fucking around, trying to figure out if I had already snapped. I was calm. I was collected. I had gone off the deep end.

The lens kept whirling, swirling, moving around. I saw my face twist around, my scalp getting removed, my jaw getting sliced off, my eyes becoming one, twirling off, my tongue sticking out without me actually sticking it out, then the tongue licking the sides of the camera lens so fast that it was ground down into a bloody stump, the blood dripping down off the sides of the camera and onto the floor.

I didn’t wince.

Why was I doing this? Why was I wasting my time looking at a camera? I didn’t have stuff to do. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to stop being here. I didn’t want to do anything.

I stared at him. I stared at him and the men behind him, the ones freaking out and fretting about the kid who had died a long time ago. The blood dripping and creating a puddle on the floor. My own eyes getting pierced by the laser.

I waited for something to happen. Somebody to ask me what was up, but then I’d just say nothing. I wanted someone to tackle me and slap me, but then I’d probably just react and strangle them out. I just wanted something to break this fucking thing up, stuff that didn’t involve me freaking out or snapping or strangling someone or…fuck, I still can’t believe I _did_ that. God.

I noticed the blood on the floor. It was reaching my feet. I drug my toe in the puddle, and it moved around.

Nobody was saying my name.

I shook my head. How long has it been?

I came too.  The lights around me were dim. I guess it’s been…don’t. No. Don’t say that. Something’s not right.

The lights flickered a little bit, then went back online at full-strength.

I exhaled relief out of my nose, then stepped out of my blood. My feet didn’t leave any tracks.

My mind went through the same motions. I didn’t know where to go.

I went somewhere.

I turned the corner in the hallway, and started walking towards the door to the stairway. The storeroom door opened up, and I didn’t care who it was. Just kept walking.

“Jack?”

Just keep walking.

“Where have you been? It’s been…God, about a day since I’ve seen you last. Remember? Are you okay?”

Just keep walking.

“Jack? Don’t walk away from me. I need answers! Are you deaf?!”

I opened the door, and I heard footsteps come down from behind me. Small ones. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t care enough to brush it off. I just stared at the concrete stairway.

“Can I just…I just need to…”

I looked behind my shoulder.

“Oh my – your eyes! They’re…what have you been doing? They’re bloodshot!”

I’ve been staring at blood. That’s probably why.

“Are you…you must have a migraine, right? Something along those lines. I don’t exactly knows the symptoms, but…that seems right. Do you need help?”

My eyes shrunk on their own. I didn’t know what to do.

“You must be tired, too…hm. Why don’t you just go back up to bed? It’s…around noon. Maybe just taking a nap? What about another cold shower?”

I kept staring.

“Do you…oh. Okay. I’ll…I’ll just let you go to your room – oh, what am I saying, I shouldn’t have that authority over you. What do you want to do?

I didn’t want to do anything.

“That’s…oh. Okay. I…well, I’ll just…see you…”

I nodded, and started walking into the room and up the stairs.

The top floor still had the distant sound of rain. The lights flickered again. I looked behind me and saw bloody footprints. Whatever.

I walked past the doors with X’s on them, stared at Russell’s from where I was standing, then at Dianna’s, then sighed and fumbled with my door for a while. The lock wouldn’t work. The handle didn’t work. The lock worked.

I went in.

Just a nap.

I looked at the tres laches for a while. They were still sealed in their box, which I somehow remembered to do. I stuck one in my mouth and chewed, and I didn’t feel anything. No taste, no happy memories of my eating them at the New Mexico State Fair after breaking my big toe at a half-pipe exhibition or the nice Texmex resturaunt in town, or my mom bringing home this exact same brand from the store.

It was nothing.

I unzipped my jacket, threw it on the floor, took of my pants, and laid on top of bed.

It’s nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the following things:  
> Overwatch  
> Payday 2  
> Steven Universe  
> Fallout New Vegas/4  
> Modding Fallout New Vegas/4  
> My New Fanfic Project  
> Tumblr  
> Something Awful  
> College
> 
> Thanks to those things I've gotten about one paragraph total written for the past three or so weeks until I totally eliminated all of my distractions and sat down to write this. It sucks. So, in case you're wondering about the five weeks of inactivity, it wasn't because of growing displeasure with this fic. I just sort of hit a slump regarding this chapter and how to do it, since I sort of wrote myself into a hole. Thankfully, after thinking for a while, I managed to find a way to do it and progress. Woo!


	69. Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get back to basics.

I woke up fine.

Not angry, not in pain, not burning with hatred, not horribly regretful, not…nothing.

I felt fine.

My room still had its light on, which was probably because I still haven’t really learned how to fall asleep normally. Not that I didn’t already.

I swung upright, massaging my scalp and trying to wake up. I felt hair. My hand eventually went down to my chin, and I felt stubble. Shit. How long has that been there?

Take care of it.

I stretched, got up, went to my bathroom, looked in the mirror. I looked like shit. I started shaving, ignoring the flecks of blood that started to shoot up and stain the glass, tried to get all of it off. All the fucking hair off. Everything off.

I remembered a scene like this in a movie my mom liked to watch. The first scene had a dude, a yuppie, someone wake up in a hotel room, wake up, go to his bathroom like he just got off a massive coke bender, start shaving, trace blood down the wall and saw a hooker in a bathtub.

I looked down at the tub.

I didn’t want to say anything more.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a little bit, dragging out the bags under my eyes and just saying stuff, ‘fuck’ and ‘goddammit’. I tried to kill someone yesterday. Maybe it was two days ago.

I sliced a finger on the razor, walked out and wiped it on the doorframe. I got dressed,  I don’t know why. I sat on the bed again.

I heard scurrying. Ignore it.

It was still raining.

I looked into the camera for a little bit, the one on the mirror. It wasn’t hard to miss. It was just a huge black strip at the top, with a little circle in the middle, like a smartphone came…yeah. I didn’t know who was looking.

Maybe that could be my…thing. Like, just staring into cameras. That would be fun. Maybe they’d think I’ve gone off the deep end and let me go.

What am I saying? I don’t need to…

I felt my cheeks sort of dissolve away into a smile.

I took out my knife and stared at the blood smear on the wall. God, I was so mindless when I did that, huh? Just fucking cut yourself and wipe it away and god damn you must be some sort of badass, huh? Just cutting yourself without caring? God, did you even feel _anything_ when you did that? Wow, you’re some fucking sick dude, aren’t you? Are you enjoying this? Just seeing yourself dissolve the fuck away into some lunatic? Who’s it gonna be? Nancy? Edwin? God, I’d love to just cut right into Edwin and get rid of that fucking voice of his. I’m sure I would. I’m sure you would, dude.

I pricked more into my finger.

There’s a whore in the tub.

I went up to go see her, and I ended up seeing the blood on the walls, staring at it for a long time, seeing the cross I drew with my finger, and I was rushing out of the room, everyone else was, too, tripping over ourselves, colliding and bouncing around like bumper cars.

I walked up to Rebecca, shaking my head, the siren still hurting. I never wanted to hear it again. Fuck, it just…made me lose everything. God.

“Do we know?” I asked. My head was clouded with…a lot of stuff.

She shook her head, still dressed in her pajamas  - a t-shirt and sweatpants, with her shirt blazoned with a logo of a syringe across the breast. Her hair was messy, and her rubbing it didn’t help.  We were the only ones around.

I let out a small groan. “Fuck. We don’t know who it…where it is, do we, either?”

Rebecca looked at me. “You’re still not awake, are you?”

“Just woke up.”

J.J.’s door opened up, and she immediately disregarded my existence, jogging over to Caroline in her chair. Gordon wasn’t around.

“Fuck…fuck, who are we missing…” I tried to scan the room, and instead only filled my vision with whirling.

“Sarah…Nancy…Weston, Edwin.”  She counted, putting a very sad pause on the scout’s name.

I stared at the door.

“ _Shit._ ”

“Jack? Jack?! Where are you – “

I was already through the door, racing down the steps and trying to not trip and fall and splatter my brains. Not that I…fuck. Don’t.

I felt the doors slam open behind me. Fuck. Nancy...Sarah. Shit. They hung around the fake room. That’s where I learned…

What if someone heard us? What if…who here…

Edwin.

Shit.

I rushed up to the right door, pouding on the door, trying to open it without using the door, used the door, and caught my breath. Fucking…”Homophobe son of a _bitch_.”

The entire hallway was still dark. Gordon was on the floor, staring at the wall and the nothing on it.

I was about to ask him something, but he just looked at me. He saw my shoes and he looked at me. His eyes were dull, glazed over, almost grey as tombstones in an old graveyard.

I didn’t say anything.

The door opened behind us. “Jack? Gordon! What’re yo-“

He turned towards Rebecca, then looked at the floor between his knees. His hands were trembling.

“What…” she started, then broke her gaze from his cold eyes and looked at my soulless ones, like they were better. “Something’s gone wrong.”

“Nurse room.” I nodded.

She headed off in front of me, waving me to keep up. I gave one last look at Gordon, then tried to reach where she was. I had my hand on my knife pocket, and she looked down, saw the bulg…the, uh, the knife through my pocke…she saw where I kept the knife. In my pants.

She shook her head. “Don’t. I don’t think there’s anyone bad in there.”

I nodded, making a fist instead of being ready to quick draw my blade.

Rebecca slowly turned the doorknob and leaned in, letting rays of light slowly shine in our faces. The sound of wet coughing and crying slowly filled our ears. Rebecca was the first person to actually look into the room, and she seemed shocked, almost bringing her head all the way back.

“What’s up?” I whispered into her ear, which was probably a bit creepy.

She didn’t say anything, but squeezed her face up, swallowing air, relaxing her face again, and walking through. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of anticipation, and followed.

Nancy was at the side of the bed, kneeling at the side, her teeth caught in a tight grimace, her eyes wide, afraid, wet.

Sarah was laid on the bed, in a t-shirt and a pair of women’s underwear. Her  head was lying flat on the pillow, pointing to the right. Her red hair was sprawled out all around her, laying calm and flat on the sheets. She had her hand in Nancy’s.

There was no rise and fall in her chest. No slight movement of the mouth, nothing on the nose. There was a mirror on the nightstand. It was clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I finally got my stuff together and worked on this!  
> How was everyone's holidays? I hoped they were good. I celebrated by killing off my favorite character!  
> So, uh, just some news; I have a new fanfiction project up. You can check it out by going to my profile and, uh, I guess looking at it and seeing if you like it. It's basically what I'm doing with Dangan Ronpa but for the SMT: Persona franchise, in the sense that I'm taking the concepts and themes of a Japan-based franchise and moving them over to the good US-of-A because I am creativity inept when it comes to writing about other cultures! So far, it only has two chapters, because I'm waiting on some other stuff and I'm trying to take it easier when it comes to uploading.  
> Also, I have a AO3-specific email now, in case anyone wants to email me and talk about this fic and where I screwed up or what I did good with. It's also on my profile, but if you're lazy you can send your messages ripwaggletonpt@gmail.com
> 
> One last thing, try reading the last part of this chapter with this song in the background. It's positively heartbreaking! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa4QywE6KLY


	70. Long Night, pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack wakes up.

The P.A. sounded again. Crackles of static.

“Wow, holy shit. You dudes wasted no time today…huh, I was actually going to just give you guys a new incentive today, but I think you deserved it! Uh, how about…if you win this round, you get to bring someone out with you?”

I ignored it.

Sarah’s body was – Christ, it didn’t look like a body. Her eyes were closed, her hands at rest, nothing was bleeding or broken and she didn’t look like she was in pain, just sleeping.

Nancy was staring at her. A few tears kept coming down. The clinic was silent and cold. Neither me or Rebecca knew what to do.

“N-Na…” she started to say, but looked back at Sarah’s body and remained silent.

Nancy turned to us, apparently just now realizing we were here, then looked like she was about to erupt again. Instead she just sat back down and back against the cupboards behind her.

“This is my fault.”

None of us said anything, but I saw Rebecca’s eyebrows get low.

“I…just,” Nancy buried her head in her knees. “I, I, don’t…I didn’t mean to…”

I kept wanting to say something, but my mouth just kept shutting the fuck up for me.

“I left my door open, and…my gift, th-that gift, the gun, the one from the-“

“Gun?!”

Nancy looked at me, and her eyes got wetter. She thought I was yelling at her, probably. Shit.

“What do you mean gun. An actu-“

“Fourty-five cali-caliber…” she coughed and swallowed. “Th-that, the package we got  - I got…had a gun in it, and…a letter, a manual or something, it was…was, like, how to do anything – how to shoot, how to…”

“Someone here has a gun?!”

People on the outside -  a few people – started piping up from the open door.

Nancy ignored me. “I didn’t mean for – I just, I just didn’t mea-“

Rebecca’s face got tight, shook her head, and kneeled down next to Nancy. “Nancy, it’s okay – “

“No it’s not! _It’s not fucking okay_! She’s dead!” She banged her head against the bone of her knee until Rebecca , almost instinctively, grabbed her hair. I tapped her shoulder, she looked up, at her hand, then released Nancy.

Christ, this was bad.

Nancy sputtered a bit more.

“I’m sorry, just…we need to know what’s going on. You think someone has a gun?”

She nodded, stared at her skin, and curled her mouth in. “I-I-I-a couple hours ago, last night, I think…oh my God, I’m an idiot, I’m such a-“

“ _Nancy_.”

She sucked in air. “I left my door open when I went to got –go to sleep, and Sarah found it, and she found out, and she…she said – I said I was scared, and she said she’d stay and my room and sleep there and…”

I started putting that together in my head, and…well, there’s a gun involved…somewhere.

“Then an hour, and…then…someone was fighting, and they were gonna shoot me with…I saw the gun metal, and Sarah smashed her thing – her guitar, and the guy got hurt, I think, and…I saw…oh, God, oh…I could’ve…”

Rebecca started rubbing Nancy on the shoulder.

“When I opened my eyes she was on the ground, and…she was…sick, and, twitching, like…like someone hit her with a car, and she…I got Gordon, and we brought her down here, and…I…when I got back, she was…gone.”

I kept working it while Rebecca and Nancy’s voices twirled into nothingness. A fight in Nancy’s room, something happened to Sarah…there’s a gun. 

I stopped thinking and watched the two talk. I felt awake and alive.

I kept expecting Sarah’s fingers to twitch. She didn’t look like she was gone.

The three of us exited the clinic in silence. Apparently Nancy wanted to  show us that she wasn’t lying. It was still raining. I was a bit excited and more than a bit scared and angry, and I was honestly I bit scared that the thought that someone here had a gun was…

I should be freaking out. Now I’m anticipating it.

Rebecca was obviously trying her hardest to contain her nervousness. While in the stairwell I saw her wipe her forehead with her shirt.  Nancy was drained of color and still weeping.

I kept reminding myself that it was still raining, and there was still something outside.

Nancy’s door was open. It was lit up. I was the first to step in as Nancy and Rebecca talked behind me.

There was a broken acoustic guitar on the ground, a open cardboard box with papers scattered around the floor. Blood on the sheets, open bathroom door, blood on the wood of the guitar, mirror was leaning against the dresser.

Rebecca touched my back, I twitched away. “Cut and dry, huh?”

“So someone’s bleeding out and has a gun.”

“A fuckin’ gun…”

Rebecca leaned down and picked up the papers. “This is the same stationary that my letters were in…the one about…you know, my weight…ugh.”

“What’sit say?”

She cleared her throat, began to read, then stopped herself.

“Hey.”

“I don’t want to read it…” her eyes went narrow. “Christ! She doesn’t deserve to -”

Her hands tightened on the paper and began to tear it up, but I yanked it from her.  It was…basically taunting Nancy about everything she’s went through. Being gay, all that. I skimmed it, but then I got to the last few paragraphs. It was about…the gun. A pistol, apparently, .45, whatever that meant. It listed the brand, how it’s America, so we need a gun…’be sure to use it in front of a camera so we can see’…

I threw it to the ground. Rebecca picked up the other pieces of paper, apparently the gun’s manual. Leather-bound, golden logo on it of the maker.  She flipped through it, shook her head. “Nothing of note.”

I glanced at the bed, the trash, everything.

“What did Nancy say happen?”

“She left her door open, Sarah came in and…I guess just slept in her bed with her, something like that. Someone else came in, and…well, there was a fight.”

“She didn’t look dead.”

“Huh?”

I rubbed my hair. I felt a headache coming on. Too much shit happening at once, too much shit that I was used to now. “Sarah. Right? She looked alive. She didn’t get hurt.”

“I was thinking that.”

“There were three things, right?”

“Three…packages?”

“You got one, Nancy got one. What were they for?”

“Some stupid poll.”

“Who got second?”

“I…” Rebecca began to think, and then groaned angrily. “Look, Jack, there’s a person with a gun somewhere, Nancy’s going into hysterics – she’s a preteen girl who just lost the first person close to her – and I just don’t think we should stand around and muse about presents! We need to figure out who’s going around shooting people before-“

“Alright, I get it…” I felt my head twinge again.

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No.”

“I…alright,” She glanced at the floor, all the shit and trash on it, then we walked out.  

“I’m a bit scared…I’m sorry.”

“Scared?”

She looked down the hallway. “How many people are left?”

“A lot?”

“Jack.”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Anyone could…” she looked at me, my pockets… “Anyone could have it. Did you see the design in the manual? It was…it was  the size of my palm, really. Someone could hide it anywhere…someone could just, sneak up and shoot me, and that’s it.”

I tried not to think about it.

We climbed down the stairs. I heard thunder.

I took a while to look at her. She was glancing around nervously as we rounded the corner, and sort of cuddling her own body.

“I _hate_ guns. When I’m President, I’m getting rid of them all.”

We are at the entrance to the clinic now. People were there. Gordon, Caroline, J.J., Samson, Weston. Edwin and Nancy were nowhere to be seen.

Rebecca stared into the room. I nudged her.

She went out in an instant. I ran back after her.

“Hey! Are yo-“

“The-the gun, it had, it has a capacity of seven gu-bullets, rounds, it-“

I grabbed her shoulders. She was breathing hard and swallowing nothing.

“Rebecca!”

“I-I can’t, it’s…what if someone is the killer that fucke-fucked up those…the…” she was freaking out. Freaking the fuck out. I couldn’t…it was so unlike her.

“You’re fine, you’re-“

“He could _kill_ all of us! Shoot Joanne, shoot you, shoot Nancy, there’s an invalid and Gordon’s practically catonic – it’s so easy! It’s so fucking…we’re going…”

I grabbed her by the arms and hugged her as tight as I could, keeping my hands away from her neck or...

She breathed slower and slower.

God, I could just…put her out right now…she doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m sorry…God, I feel so…”

“You’re okay.”

She wedged herself out of my arms. “Do you think the cameras…”

“It’s okay.”

I ignored the feeling I got when I hugged her of me almost doing the same to Caroline. I tried to ignore my blood in my heart pounding my chest – not out of love or anything.

“I just…”

“I can handle it.”

“What?”

“Go in your room – or something. You’ll be fine. I can do this.”

“No…no. No, I’m not going to let you…”

“I don’t care if they kill everyone here, okay?” I thought for a moment. What was I trying to say? “I don’t care if I die. I don’t think anyone would care if I died. If anyone has to get out of here, it’s going to…find Nancy, find Caroline, hide them-“

“What if Nancy has the gun?”

I stopped.

“Jack, I’m not going to be a coward…I’m scared, but I…”

“Can’t what?”

She looked at me and crossed her arms. “I’m going to be safe. I’m not going to hide.”

“Fine.”

Another thundercrack.

Rebecca froze. She didn’t talk.

Not thunder. Gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT DEAD NOT DEAD NOT DEAD  
> Actually I'm not sure if a 4-5 month hiatus is normal for fanfiction. I dunno.  
> Sorry for the delay, either way. Lotta new stuff! I finished this semester and aside from a few things I'm pretty free this entire Summer. I'm gonna try to keep updating everything. I have two new fics, in case you haven't seen - Persona: Unconscience, a fic that's applicable to this DanganRonpa one in that it's a translation of a video game (in this case, SMT: Persona) to America, along with The Dead State, a Fallout fanfiction that's essentially just a new story. Check 'em out if you want! I'm gonna try updating Despair America Friday evenings, Unconscience Saturday afternoons/early evenings, and Dead State Sunday mornings.  
> I think the reason this chapter took so long was that my feeling for Dangan Ronpa is...basically dead at this point. After seeing all the stuff that the DR3 anime and NDRV3 game did, and it's apparent change in focus and mood from DanganRonpa 1 (basically going from a dark and relatively grounded story to a hypersurreal anime-styled theme). That's not to say that I hate this fic - I'm still not proud of the early chapters, and the aforementioned mental illness bullshit, but I think as long as I stay safe and accurate to everything else, I'm going to be good. I've also been thinking of a sequel! Keep this on your radar.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to "Fangan Ronpa: Despair America!", version 2. This is a complete rewrite of a (terrible) fic I started in May of last year, that nobody ever read. I made a lot of mistakes during it and over the following year I learned more about writing and storytelling, got an editor who knew more about this than I did, and got a lot of advice from friends. Hopefully, this new work should read a lot better and be an more engaging read than my last one.


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